


One Week

by Elle_Smith



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Angst, Brain Damage, Dark, Drug Use, F/M, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Injury Recovery, M/M, Murder, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prostitution, Rape/Non-con Elements, Religion, Sex Addiction, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-04 00:25:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 256,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2902643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elle_Smith/pseuds/Elle_Smith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the year AC 207, ten years after the end of the war, ex-Gundam pilot Duo Maxwell suddenly shows up at the doorstep of his ex-comrade, Heero Yuy. While trying to keep his post-war life a secret, Duo soon discovers that Heero is also hiding something from him. By the end of one week, a dark secret will be revealed. One week, two secrets: one more horrible than the other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> **Click[here](https://www.dropbox.com/s/1pkj216sbpa25rc/Gundam%20Wing%20-%20One%20Week%20-%20Elle%20Smith-%20eBook%205x8.pdf?dl=0) to download the full eBook version.**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **Disclaimer:**  
>  GUNDAM WING is a Registered Trademark of Bandai, Sunrise, Sotsu Agency & TV Asahi. This work of fiction was written for non-profitable purposes.  
> Non-Gundam Wing related names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
> 
> **Summary:**  
>  War is fought by people guided by powerful convictions. A warrior living a life without war is therefore faithless. For years they've been trained for battle, ideology drilled into their minds, fueling their will to fight for freedom. But when the conflict between Earth and the Colonies was finally over, their kind of faith could no longer guide them. Lost in a world they helped to create, two such warriors end up building themselves very different lives. Two worlds are about to collide:  
> In the year AC 207, ten years after the end of the war, ex-Gundam pilot Duo Maxwell suddenly shows up at the doorstep of his ex-comrade, Heero Yuy. While trying to keep his post-war life a secret, Duo soon discovers that Heero is also hiding something from him. By the end of one week, a dark secret will be revealed.
> 
>  
> 
> **ONE WEEK, TWO SECRETS:  
> **  
>  ONE MORE HORRIBLE THAN THE OTHER.
> 
>  
> 
> **Warnings:**  
>  This story is rated MA, meaning it content is only suitable for mature adults for it contains explicit language and adult themes:  
> \- Drug and alcohol abuse  
> \- Homosexual themes  
> \- Sex scenes: heterosexual and homosexual  
> \- Nonconsensual sex  
> \- Violence
> 
> **Fandom Warnings Classification:**  
>  \- Original Female Character (OFC)  
> \- Original Male Character (OMC)  
> \- 1+2/2+1  
> \- 1+R/R+1  
> \- 1+OMC  
> \- 1xOFC  
> \- 2xOFC  
> \- 2x1
> 
> **IMPORTANT NOTE I:** Please note that I am an avid 1x2/2x1 fan, but even though this story is centered on Heero and Duo, and it has a distinct homosexual theme, it is NOT a romantic 1x2/2x1 get together story. This story is about the kind of love that transcends the romantic or erotic. Nevertheless, I hope you would be willing to give it a shot.
> 
> **IMPORTANT NOTE II:**  
>  "One Week" is a 250K long work of fan fiction. It is complete, so you can trust it to be posted start to finish, one chapter at a time. Soon I will be offering a link to the full eBook version.
> 
> **Author's Note:**  
>  This story has been in the making since early 2009. It has accompanied me through many rough patches and, to be fair, some good times as well. I think it's safe to say that this story has matured along with me over these past six years. Some scenes I wrote a long time ago, in what feels like another lifetime... when I was a different version of me.  
> I never expected to drag it on for this long. I wrote it in long intervals, whenever the need to vent through writing arose. You might say that One Week has been a sort of therapist.  
> I've found it especially hard to finish this story. The last three scenes in chapter 18 were put on hold for over a year (!!!) before I forced myself to just sit down and write them. In a way, I guess I was afraid of letting this story go, seeing it through... finishing therapy, so to speak. Now that I have, I must say I'm relieved. My only hope is that this long effort was worth it and that at least a few people out there would read this from beginning to end and maybe even like it enough to drop me a positive note here and there.  
> It would be very presumptuous of me to say that this story is the pinnacle of my writing – because it's not. As mentioned above, I've done a lot of growing up since I first got started on this story and I suspect that my writing has changed (improved, hopefully) as well over time. Nevertheless, One Week is very dear to my heart. Therefore, your kindness will be appreciated when leaving a constructive review.  
> And without any further ado, I give you One Week, straight from my bleeding heart and aching typing fingers... Enjoy. 
> 
> Elle
> 
> [ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/130931047@N06/15733103734/in/dateposted-public/)

**Gundam Wing**

**One Week**

**A Fan Fiction Work by Elle Smith**

**Prologue**  

He was surrounded by solid darkness, swallowed by silence and hidden from the world. In this unnerving stillness everything melted into a murky haze soaked with pain. It came and it went, like ripples on the sand. Pain hazing in and pain hazing out; nothing else existed.

Then there was a sound. His own labored breathing echoed in the fog. Gradually, he became aware of the unbearable dryness in his mouth. His breath came out loud and heavy through his chapped lips. His tongue was dry, swollen. His nose was broken; throbbing with pulses of agony. The persistent ache pulsating through his entire body suggested that the tender bones in his face weren't the only ones to have been fractured brutally. Despite the pain in his limbs, ribs and gut, the broken nose hurt the worst. It was stuffy, clogged with blood and mucus, allowing no air passage whatsoever. It felt like solid rock hanging in the center of his face. He breathed heavily through his mouth, listening to the sound of his raspy breath echo within the small holding cell.

It was so dark. He couldn't even tell if his eyes were open or closed. By the stinging sensation, he assumed that they were open. Moaning miserably, he allowed his heavy eyelids to flutter shut and finally rest. He lay perfectly still; afraid that even the slightest movement would stir more pain.

He was lying sprawled prone on the floor after being thrown into an enemy prison cell. He had been tossed there by some soldier after hours of torturous interrogation. The enemy was _considerate_ enough not to pump him full of drugs and truth serum; they didn't want to risk a lethal overdose due to his young age, but that didn't stop them from beating him up in an attempt to get him talking.

Of course, no matter how brutally they tried to get information out of him, he didn't let one crumb of it spill from his mouth. Gundam pilot 02, known to a few as Duo Maxwell, was one tough nut to crack. He took pride in his stubbornness. His cocky attitude and witty street-smart remarks could easily drive any man up the wall. It came in handy during interrogation, but his words had lost their sting after one officer got fed up with him and punched him straight in the nose, breaking it. It was hard to sound nasty while speaking with a stuffy, nasal voice.

They were going to execute him on live television. The bastards didn't care how it would look like if they killed a fifteen year old kid during live broadcast. He couldn't play the age card twice. OZ wanted to make an example out of him for all Colony citizens to see. If they had to kill a minor to prove their point, they would. Duo supposed that considering his recent terrorist attacks on OZ bases, one could hardly call him an _innocent minor_. Many lives had been taken; casualties of war, but victims nonetheless. None of those soldiers stood a chance against his superior firepower. Now, OZ was out for his blood; it was only natural.

Groaning wretchedly, Duo struggled to lift his heavy and aching body off the floor, somehow managing to rise on all fours. His hair, which was gathered into an unusually long braid, fell over his shoulder and kissed the filthy floor. His arms and legs trembled as he tried to remain up. The effort proved too great for his abused body and he heaved, breathless, letting out a series of watery coughs. He felt wetness at the corner of his mouth and wiped it away with the back of his shaky hand. It wasn't difficult to assume that he had just coughed out blood.

Fatigued, Duo sighed heavily and maneuvered his hurting body slowly to a sitting position, leaning tiredly against the wall behind him. Looking up ahead, he could see the thin strips of light framing the door.

"This sucks," he muttered; his gruff voice carried a faint Southern American accent as it echoed within the small cell. He wasn't sure to whom he was directing his bitter remark; perhaps to God, if the son-of-a-bitch was listening. He never seemed to spare him any of his _divine_ attention, so Duo had long stopped talking to God. Life taught him better than to believe in some unknown and allegedly benevolent power. Religious faith was for the deluded; those whose lives were comfortable enough, those few grateful souls who wished to thank their Maker for their good fortune. Then there were the bitter ones, who took comfort in cussing their Maker with obscene accusations, blaming God for their every misfortune. Duo had no need to praise or condemn God for anything. He simply ignored the prospect of God's existence, because believing would hurt too much. He didn't want to end up as one of the _"bitter ones"_ waiting for salvation and some so-called _divine intervention_.

No, God was out of the question. Even when he did feel like turning to the _Almighty_ , he stopped himself or else he would end up feeling foolish for even trying. There were only two things Duo allowed himself to believe in: one was that his fight was a just one, and the second was that death was the only mystical force anyone could ever put their trust in. In his eyes, there was only one true and undeniable force ruling the world – and that was _death_. Death was a universal truth, a constant that made all men equal. Unlike _God_ , it never failed to show itself when needed; it was trustworthy. That kind of firm and definite power was something Duo could believe in.

If there was ever such an all-mighty powerful force people could refer to as _God_ , it was death: The God of Death. Duo had learned to accept that he had become a faithful messenger of this god. It was an arrogant point a view, perhaps, but it was the only way he could justify the massive amounts of blood on his hands. Most would consider him a hateful terrorist, a young and brainwashed fanatic acting under the deluded teachings of some maniac with an agenda for destruction. Even the people he fought for accused him of being an extremist causing them nothing but harm and further oppression. He believed in what he was doing and why he was doing it, but he had to admit that his fight for freedom was a dirty one. OZ certainly wasn't planning on letting him get away with it and the worst part was that the Colonies were playing along. The price of fighting for freedom was becoming heavy and his own home-colony had been turned against him. It was the same for his comrades; they were being betrayed and alienated by the very people they fought for.

With a quiet hiss, the electric sliding door to his cell opened. A blinding column of white light tumbled into the room, streaking the floor with its harsh brightness. Duo squinted against the brilliant assault. He heard a low thudding sound as someone threw an unconscious body into the room. For a split second, Duo's heart jumped to his throat as he figured that OZ must have caught one of his comrades. It was only a few seconds later, when his eyes adjusted to the light, that Duo was proven otherwise.

A lone figure was standing at the doorway; a dark silhouette against a bright white background. The figure was male; a short and lean teenage boy. He stood rigidly at the doorway, shoulders drawn back and his palms balled into fists at the sides of his body. Apparently, he had just tossed an unconscious enemy soldier into the cell.

Duo recognized the boy easily. The familiar sight of his stiff posture and his scruffy hairdo were a dead giveaway.

"Heero, what a surprise," he greeted his comrade with a hoarse, nasal voice, struggling to speak over the bothersome blockage in his nose. "You really are some _superhuman_ ," he added as a poor excuse for a joke, congratulating the other adolescent boy on his successful infiltration to a highly secured military base; an accomplishment made against all likelihood. Only Heero was capable of defeating such grim odds.

The fifteen year old teenage-soldier stood confidently at the doorway, observing Duo silently. He was dressed casually in a bright-blue turtleneck shirt and dark trousers, as though he had just gone out for a day at school instead of infiltrated an enemy base. He didn't seem to be carrying any weapons on him. The only deadly thing about him was the harsh look in his eyes. He was looking down at Duo with a pair of firm Prussian blue eyes. The sight was overwhelming; his eyes glimmered frostily under the harsh white light, like cold hard jewels. They betrayed none of the boy's thoughts; only conveying his powerful presence.

Heero's eyes carried the most intense gaze Duo had ever seen. So deeply focused on the boy's ruthless blue eyes, Duo didn't even notice that Heero had pulled out a pistol until he heard the barrel being cocked. The sound echoed hollowly inside the small prison cell. Duo watched numbly as Heero lifted his arm up as elegantly as a dancer, pointing the gun at him. He looked Duo squarely in the eye. His glare was cold and calculated; detached, as though he wasn't pointing a weapon at a comrade, rather just another faceless enemy soldier.

The two young terrorists gazed quietly at one another. Heero hadn't pulled the trigger yet and Duo decided to use the opportunity to offer some witty last words.

"You're just in time too," he rasped bitterly; "They was gonna use me and ma Gundam as God damned _propaganda_ ," he muttered and struggled to stand up on shaky legs. He used the wall behind him for support, dragging himself up slowly. If he was going to be executed anyway, he would die standing on his own two feet.

"If I'm gonna die, then this seems like da best way ta go," he assured Heero with half a smile. There was no resentment or sarcasm in his voice, just plain acceptance. He knew what their orders were; Heero was merely doing what he would have done in his place. OZ could never be allowed to use him as a damn publicity stunt. Odds of escaping together were slim to none, so there was only one viable option: he should be silenced, right here, right now.

Duo raised his head up proudly and closed his eyes.

"Go ahead 'n shoot me," he mumbled behind closed eyes, feeling the aim of Heero's pistol on him as though the barrel was actually pressed against his forehead.

Silence pounded in his ears as he waited for the shot that would end his life. He could actually _feel_ Heero's finger begin pulling the trigger. He clenched his closed eyes shut even tighter. This was it. The God of Death was about to claim him too. He was going home, joining his victims and loved ones in the afterlife.

Seconds passed, but nothing happened.

Confused, Duo opened his eyes. There was a wounded look in his eyes as he gazed up at his executioner. Was Heero actually hesitating? That was insulting! He wasn't afraid of facing his own demise. Or perhaps Heero was hesitating because he was aiming a gun at a fellow pilot? No, that was unlikely. Even Duo was smart enough to know that their acquaintance was negligible. Surely the _Perfect Soldier_ knew better than to let their wobbly alliance get in the way of their mission.

"Hey, you're gonna do it, right?" Duo asked, offended by Heero's hesitancy. He didn't want Heero's pity. He knew what he was signing up for when he had joined the Resistance. It was either fight for freedom for all Colony citizens or fight for scraps on the streets. The choice had been an easy one.

"If that is what you want," Heero finally spoke and his low, quiet voice vibrated through Duo like small electric charges. Hearing Heero's voice was a rare occurrence. The teenage soldier never spoke much and even when he did, his steady tone was always just above a whisper, leaving an awe-inspiring impression that one was in the presence of greatness. The young man's temperance had the power to stir the hearts of those few fortunate souls who had heard him speak and lived to tell about it. Duo was flooded with a familiar sense of appreciation. He was one of less than a handful of people Heero graced with the sound of his voice – and that was no small achievement.

He watched, speechless, as the young soldier lowered his weapon down and turned to the door again.

"Your right arm is still operational, right?" It was more of a statement than a question; Heero never asked questions. He tossed his pistol towards Duo without even looking his way; as expected, his aim was perfect.

Duo caught it swiftly, his arm flying up to catch the gun by pure reflex. He gaped at Heero as the boy walked over to secure the rifle belonging to the soldier he had neutralized earlier. Dazed, he watched Heero hoist the rifle's strap over his shoulder and walk back into the cell, towards him.

Was he dreaming, or had Heero just gone against protocol and spared his life?

_No_ , Duo realized as he felt Heero take his useless left arm and wrap it around his strong shoulders, allowing Duo to lean on him for support; _Heero just saved ma life_. _I'll be damned,_ he thought to himself as Heero sneaked his muscular arm around his waist and helped him limp out of the cell; _it looks like I actually made a friend in this goddamned world._

Duo couldn't help but smile. He caught Heero's disapproving glance and hurried to wipe the silly grin off his face.

Heero guided him to the doorway, where he stopped and peeked out into the hallway, looking left and right to ensure that their route was still secured.

"So where's your Gundam?" Duo asked just to break his comrade's heavy silence. The young soldier was so focused on his mission that it was beginning to make Duo feel uneasy, like he was being carried around as a piece of cargo.

"On Earth," Heero whispered a brisk reply, "It would be too conspicuous in space. I could get caught like you did."

" _Well excuse me!_ " Duo muttered with a sarcastic tone that emphasized his light Southern accent. He rolled his eyes at Heero's cold arrogance. "So, _smartass_ , how do ya plan on gettin' us outta here?"

"I came here to kill you," Heero informed him matter-of-factly as he scanned the corridor one last time before heading out. "I haven't devised an escape plan yet."

" _Brilliant_ ," Duo scolded haughtily; "You never thought about how to get your own damn ass outta here?" he grumbled cynically and watched Heero pull out a long, slim device out of his pocket.

"What if we _both_ get caught?"

"Then it's as simple as silencing two mouths," Heero replied coldly as he pressed the trigger on a long-range detonator.

An explosion was heard from somewhere nearby. The metallic walls around them shook violently. Alarms blared and red sirens flashed as the base switched to tactical alert. As havoc spread through the facility, Heero expertly slipped them past security, carrying Duo by keeping his arm wrapped around the wounded pilot's torso as they floated through the corridors in near zero-gravity.

They reached a dead end at the end of a corridor, which was blocked by metal bars. Without a word, Heero let go of Duo, leaving him to float next to him, and reached for the bars. His muscular arms flexed with much effort as he worked to bend two bars enough to make room to squeeze through. He groaned quietly under the strain, his knuckles turning white as his grip around the bars tightened. They actually budged.

Duo gaped in disbelief. Heero didn't wait for him to come out of his daze and slipped an arm around him again, hoisting him back up. Duo placed his injured left arm around Heero's firm shoulders for additional support.

"It's always the quiet ones who're the flashiest..." he muttered to himself as Heero guided them to safety.

*             *             *

Thanks to Heero's sharp tactical mind and ingenuity, they made it out in one piece. In his wretched state, Duo had been of little use. He could barely hold his gun properly and so at some point Heero snatched it away from him and shoved the portable detonator into his hand instead. Duo was in charge of activating the explosives Heero had strategically placed around the cargo-bay. OZ soldiers ran around frantically in an effort to stop the fires from spreading, while Heero carried Duo towards the Mobile Suits hangar.

By then, the Wing pilot had devised an escape plan.

The hangar was full of menacing man-operated Leo Mobile Suits and Mobile Dolls which operated on artificial intelligence. In a brilliantly improvised move, Heero put on an OZ spacesuit and fired at a Mobile Doll, fooling the automatic fighting machine to target people dressed in such suits. The Dolls activated one by one and charged their weapons, responding to the danger Heero had posed. By the time the automatons came to life, the young pilot had slipped out of the suit and left it on the hangar's floor.

Spacesuit-clad soldiers charged into the hangar and were immediately targeted by the massive Dolls. In the chaos that soon developed, Heero hacked into the hangar's catapult system and launched two unmanned Leo suits into space. The Mobile Dolls detected them as a secondary threat and turned to attack the Leo suits as well, including the unmanned units still standing in the hangar.

All the while, Duo sat behind a few crates in the far end of the hangar, watching in awe as Heero duped the automatic Mobile Suits to turn on their makers and annihilate the base. Flames burst all around him as the hangar filled with gunfire and secondary explosions. Soon Heero emerged from within the flames and smoke, coming back for him. He had commandeered a space shuttle and hurried to carry Duo inside before the hangar collapsed on top of them. They escaped undetected, leaving the C-102 OZ base in shambles.

For a quiet, aloof and stealthy guy, Heero sure had a flare for the dramatic.

The shuttle was designated for transporting and deploying OZ troops; it was small and narrow. Other than the two cockpit chairs, there were two opposite rows of seats for the soldiers, one at each side of the shuttle, separated by a small gap. Duo was now laid on one row, his eyes closed and his incapacitated arm draped over his abdomen. Heero had given him something for the pain; a sedative he had found in a first-aid kit. It made Duo a little woozy and so he remained still, allowing his beaten and injured body some rest after their whole extravaganza at the OZ base.

Although only half-conscious, Duo forced his tired eyes to flutter open. His vision was assaulted by the shuttle's harsh white light. He gazed numbly at the metal walls around him before slowly shifting his gaze to the front of the shuttle.

The shuttle had an open cockpit, inseparable from the rest of the interior. Heero was sitting on the pilot's chair, working the controls. Duo observed the way Heero's hands flew expertly over the consoles. Once he was done setting the helm, he raised a hand up to conceal a wide yawn. In a rare display of his humanity – most likely believing Duo was asleep – Heero stretched his arms up above his head, then behind his back, drawing his shoulder blades closer with a quiet groan. Duo could hear his bones crack as pressure was relieved. He watched silently as the young pilot bent his head forward while bringing his chin toward his chest and then backwards, until he was looking up, stretching his neck muscles. He then moved his head gently from side to side, pressing an ear to his shoulder. He raised a hand to rub the back of his neck, easing the soreness.

Duo observed him guiltily. Heero must have gone through quite a rough ride coming for him, not to mention all those crazy stunts he had pulled to get them out of that OZ base. Heero had done the impossible for him; he had literally walked through fire for him. He had done it with great poise and zero hesitation; all for the sake of a no-good-L2-trash who had recklessly botched up his mission and risked everything they were fighting for. He should have been silenced or at least punished for his shortcomings, but instead Heero chose to breach protocol.

It was ironic that the only person to show him compassion in this crazy war-torn world, was a boy he often accused of lacking any trace of humanity. He didn't deserve Heero's grace, but he was thankful for it.

With much effort, Duo pushed his aching body up to a sitting position. Very quietly, he stood up and pushed off the wall, gaining a slow momentum. Zero gravity allowed him to hover soundlessly towards the pilot's chair. He approached Heero while the teenage pilot continued his neck exercises. He grabbed the back of the pilot's chair to stop his momentum and placed a hand on Heero's shoulder. He could feel the other boy tense rigidly at his friendly touch; he had surprised him.

Heero ceased his exercises, regaining his businesslike composure in a split of a second. He resumed tending the shuttle's helm and navigation controls. The tired look in his eyes was replaced by a familiar stoic expression.

"Maybe you should get some shuteye," Duo offered in a raspy, fatigued voice. Due to his broken nose, he sounded like he had a terrible cold. "I can take over for a while."

"I'm fine," Heero insisted and shrugged Duo's hand off his shoulder. "Lie down," he ordered; "It'll be a while before I can get you to a doctor."

"I feel better now." Duo ignored his request and took a seat in the co-pilot's chair instead.

"That's because I gave you a sedative," Heero spoke evenly; "You're bleeding internally. Moving about will only aggravate your injuries further."

"Better that than havin' ya fall asleep on the wheel 'n run us into some meteor or sumthin'," Duo muttered and stifled his own yawn. "When's the last time you slept?"

Heero gazed numbly at the controls; he didn't reply and continued to adjust their heading. By the looks of his haggard and grime-streaked features, it wasn't hard to see that the young pilot was utterly exhausted.

Duo sighed dramatically. "We're outta danger, alright? There's no need for you to act all _superhuman_ anymore. Shit man, I didn't even see ya have a drink of water. You walked out of a damn _fire._ At least have a few sips!"

Heero still wouldn't offer any response as he worked the controls silently. Annoyed with him, Duo pushed himself out of the seat and hovered down back. He returned with a silver collapsible pouch of water. He threw it at Heero and the young pilot caught it in a swift motion. He didn't say a word and opened the cap to squeeze out a few sips of water from the straw; his other hand was tending the controls the whole while.

"Jesus, I swear you turn me into a damn _worrywart!_ " Duo grumbled with a nasal voice. He reached a hand up to rub his broken nose and tested it carefully, applying light pressure to see how much it would hurt. His damaged nose was very tender and he let go of it, sighing dejectedly.

"I am not the one who was in need of rescuing," Heero reminded him flatly.

"See, that's why we make such a great team!" Duo grinned jestingly; "I make sure you don't forget to do all those little things that keep us _humans_ alive, and you make sure I don't get ma ass whooped by them Ozzies!"

"Hn," Heero let out an unintelligible acknowledgement of Duo's joke. He resumed drinking the water quietly.

They sat in silence for a while, gazing at the stars out the windshield. Duo wondered why people still bothered calling the front window of a shuttle _"windshield"_ if there was no wind in space. Then again, people were so stupid. They still used outdated words like _"rewind"_ or _"clockwise"._ No one used a dial clock anymore and what the fuck did people used to _wind_ back?

His mind would have kept wandering, if not for Heero suddenly moving to leave his chair. Duo looked up to see him use the chair as leverage to lift himself up in the air. He turned to follow him with his gaze.

"So where are we headed anyway?"

"A hospital on L1," Heero replied quietly as he drifted slowly to the back of the shuttle. "Doctor J instructed me to go there if I'm ever in dire need for medical assistance during the operation."

"Hey man, I wouldn't call this _dire_ ," Duo protested in defense of his ego, gesturing down at his battered body.

"Regardless," Heero argued as he approached the row of seats opposite to the ones Duo had lain on; "you can recuperate there."

"Sure man, whatevs. As long as I dun haffta meet that freaky doc of yours. The last thing I need is to end up _brainwashed_ like you, _soldier-boy_."

Heero ignored his not-so-subtle insult, as he always did. He settled on a chair at the far end of the row. Duo watched silently as the boy took off his filthy light-blue turtleneck shirt. The fabric had been scorched by the fire; it was streaked with blood and soot and it reeked of sweat and smoke. Duo's shabby black clothes weren't any less for wear; his clothes were soaked with blood, though the bloodstains were hardly detectable on the black material.

Shirtless, Heero balled his dirty blue shirt into an improvised pillow to cushion his head as he lay down on his back and closed his eyes tiredly. Duo remained in the co-pilot chair, observing Heero's naked torso with a frown. The young teenager's body was covered with hideous scars, fresh traces of severe burns and deep slashes which had been inflicted on his flesh not too long ago. There was a large healing scab on his upper left arm, a fading-red trace of a recent and nasty-looking injury.

"That from that sick stunt you pulled in Siberia?" Duo dared to ask. The last time he had seen Heero, two months ago, they were both about to be deployed to stop two enemy convoys in Siberia; each was sent to ambush a different group of enemy transports. Before dispatch, Duo had begged Heero not to do anything stupid. He knew that if he wasn't around to keep an eye on him, the heedless teen would turn to the extreme. And he had. When things got messy and OZ had gained the upper hand, Heero had chosen a foolish and unbelievably reckless last resort. He had initiated the self-destruct protocol, destroying his Gundam to avoid its capture. The problem was – that he had activated the self-detonation sequence while still aboard the damn thing.

"I knew you'd do something stupid," Duo grumbled. Now that they were out of danger, he could finally give Heero a piece of his mind. He had to get it into that thick head of his that life wasn't something one should throw away so easily. Life sucked, sure, but giving it up meant succumbing to the sadistic forces at work. Fighting for survival was like spitting in God's face, just in case he existed and therefore enjoyed torturing everybody. Appreciating the lives they've been given was the only resistance they could truly offer.

"Da fuck were you thinking anyway? That was suicide!"

Heero remained quiet and placed his uninjured right arm over his eyes, shielding them from the shuttle's bright white light. He ignored Duo.

"Dammit, Heero, I was worried sick, yanno? I was sure you were _dead._ I fucking _grieved_ for you!"

Heero took his arm off his face and fixed his blue eyes on Duo. His expression seemed somewhat perplexed by the other pilot's concern.

"I survived," he stated simply; somewhat ruefully, as though disappointed.

"Yeah, by pure dumb luck," Duo grunted petulantly. Heero simply didn't get it. He held so little regard for his life that he probably couldn't understand why anyone would mourn for him.

Duo sighed. "Where were you all this time anyway? In that hospital we're goin' to?"

"No," Heero exhaled jadedly. He covered his eyes with his arm again; obviously uninterested in further conversation.

"Then how come I haffta go there if you didn't, and you were a _goner_ ," Duo protested grumpily.

"Because it's the safest place for you to be right now," Heero muttered while keeping his eyes covered; "You can't stay with me, you're a liability."

"Gee, and here I thought I was your _friend_."

"You are," Heero confessed quietly; as straightforward as always. He put his arm down gently and shifted his glance to look up at Duo again. He didn't say anything more, but the suddenly soft, honest gleam in his usually harsh blue eyes told Duo all that he needed to know: while Heero didn't place much value on his own life, he did cherish his. Heero didn't want him to get hurt; he _cared_ for him as a friend. Duo beamed, feeling proud for some reason.

"Thanks, Heero, you're my best pal too," he responded in kind. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for ya in Siberia," he added with a humble smile as he decided to return the favor; he needed Heero to know that he also mattered, at least to him. "And I'm glad you made it out alive."

The young pilot looked away meekly. Without a word, he turned to lie on his side, facing the shuttle wall and away from Duo's penetrating gaze. He placed one arm under his improvised cushion and leaned on the other one, cradling his head in his arms in an attempt to get as comfortable as he possibly could on the hard row of chairs he was lying on.

Duo observed his fellow pilot as he fell into a deep, exhausted, slumber. Something told him that Heero would have never let his guard down like that if it weren't for him being near. He smiled gently and turned back to the controls. He skimmed over the display panels until he found the autopilot function. The computer would alert him if anything of interest happens. He turned it on and leaned back into the co-pilot seat. He crossed his hands over his chest, leaned his head back and closed his aching eyes. He fell asleep with a smile still tugging at his chapped lips.

*             *             *

 


	2. Chapter 00: Gate Out

**Chapter 00:** **Gate Out**  

A buzzer screeched loudly and a heavy metal-bar door slid shut with a resonant _'thud!'_

A middle-aged prison-officer, a burly African man, gazed frowningly at the prisoner he was escorting. The convict stood casually in front of the closed door, wearing a cocky smile on his face. He was a tall and brawny individual, with a shoulder-length choppy-layered haircut and a gleam of bitter irony in his cobalt eyes. Long, chestnut-brown bangs framed his heart-shaped facial features. Dressed in a standard-issue bright-orange jumpsuit and heavy black boots, the only personal ornament he wore was a thick silver necklace around his neck, from which hung a large silver cross.

He stood proudly, looking quite smug, as he turned to the officer, chewing rudely on a piece of gum. He reached his two cuffed hands forward and winked at the jailer in a flirtatious manner, gesturing towards him with his hands.

The prison-guard exhaled a condemning sigh, shook his head and turned to unlock the handcuffs. "They oughtta shoot the motha-fucka who paroled you," he muttered with annoyance. "They shoulda let ya rot in here 'til ya drop."

"No one's asking you, Hakeem, so stuff it," the convict – soon to be an ex-convict – replied smoothly. His voice carried a heavy American accent with a faint Southern touch. "I'm sure gonna miss ya, though. We had some good times, didn't we?"

"Shut your piehole, _Princess_ ," the officer grunted and gave him a shove, urging him to move forward. "You're society's problem now. I don't haffta listen to your shit no more!"

"You're supposed to say – don't forget to write, Sugar."

The officer snorted in disgust. "Get a move on, ya manic crackhead."

"Oh fuck, Hakeem, I miss ya already!" the prisoner teased and charged at the man with an excessively tight hug.

"Get offa me, ya sick fuck!" the guard growled and shoved the younger man away forcefully. He gave the prisoner a sharp jab in the ribs. "Get your skinny little ass moving, Princess. The sooner you're outta here – the better!"

They arrived at a counter at the end of the hall. An old Middle-Eastern man in uniform stood behind it, looking at the prisoner from behind a pair of heavy black eyeglasses.

"Inmate 58158?" he asked sternly; his voice carried a heavy Arabic accent.

"Used to be, but I since I'm gating outta here, I'll go by Duo now," the prisoner replied with a cocky wink.

"Very funny, _Princess_ ," Hakeem muttered behind him and gave him another jab in the back. "You ain't out the gate yet, so show Abu Fas'l some respect, or it's back in the slammer for you!"

"Ah, you wish," Duo muttered and rolled his eyes. He turned back to the old man behind the counter. "Prisoner 58158 – at your service!" He grinned madly.

"Right," the old man grunted. He reached for a box behind the counter and slammed it down in front of Duo. He picked up a clipboard and a pen and reached into the box.

"One cigarette lighter," he said as he pulled a cheap green plastic lighter out of the box and placed it on the counter.

"Check," Duo cut-in with an arrogant grin, which earned him another jab in the ribs from Hakeem. The old geezer behind the counter raised his gaze from the box to scold at him with a silent glare. After a short pause, he looked down again reached for another item.

"One used pack of condoms," he droned on as he continued emptying the box. "One used pack of cigarettes, one pack of gum—"

"HEY!" Duo exclaimed as Officer Hakeem suddenly shoved his hand down his jumpsuit pocket. "Da fuck you feeling me up, man!" he whirled around and glowered at the prison officer.

Abu Fas'l looked up from his desk, clearly pissed at being interrupted.

Hakeem snarled in satisfaction as he retrieved a small folded combat knife out of Duo's pocket. He threw it up in the air, caught it again and then waved it before the convict's face in triumph.

"You think I dunno you was carrying a piece on ya, ya sick piece of _shit_ ?" he grunted; "I ain't havin' ya step outta ma prison with a weapon, ya _nut_."

It was Duo's turn to snarl insolently. "Shit, Hakeem, and here I was hoping we were finally gettin' a little friendly... This knife has sentimental value, yanno," he informed him haughtily; "You can't just take it like it was nuthin'."

"The knife _stays_ ," the officer emphasized and coldly, glowering at Duo fiercely. "I don't care how many packs o' _crackers_ [1]you used ta open with it back in the day," he muttered and shoved the switchblade into his uniform's pocket.

"Fine then," Duo grumbled; "keep it. Consider it a farewell present. Keep the gum too. I hope you'll _choke_ on it." He snatched the gum off the counter and threw it at the officer. Distracted by the falling pack of chewing gum, Hakeem didn't even notice when Duo slipped the folded combat knife back out of his pocket with the artful hands of a skilled pocket-picker. Smirking, Duo tucked the jackknife securely into his orange jumpsuit pocket. Whistling innocently, he rose up and down by lifting his heels off the ground repeatedly, as happy as a clam.

"If you two _ladies_ don't mind," Abu Fas'l sneered and slammed another item down on the counter. The two turned to him and the old man continued emptying the box:

"One T-shirt, one pair of jeans, one pair of sunglasses, one tank top, one short, one gym bag— and one passport," he looked up at Duo sternly and emphasized the following: " _Expired_ back in AC 204."

"No shit," Duo muttered and rolled his eyes. "Can I go now?"

"Prisoner 58158, Duo Maxwell, released with the aforementioned possessions on August 20th AC 207," Abu Fas'l muttered as he jotted the date down and thumped a hand-stamper onto the form in his clipboard. "The dressing room is through that door," he said, gesturing with his head as he signed the form and ripped it off the pad. He handed it to Duo, keeping the copy to himself. "Yallah," he grunted, glaring at the young man. "Ma'a salama, ya majnon!" [2]

*             *             *

It was about two hundred and seven years ago that the Anno Domini calendar was replaced with the After Colony calendar era. Human beings had ventured into space with an aspiring endeavor to colonize the black vacuum and thus solve the growing problems in an overpopulated Earth. At first, several nations established permanent space stations in geosynchronous Earth orbit. Those stations were the starting point of a much more ambitious project: the construction of the first city-size habitat in space. It had taken twenty years, but at long last the first space colony was completed at Lagrange Point 5.

L5-A02026 was constructed by the Chinese, for the Chinese, since the great People's Republic of China could no longer support its ever-growing population. Only the Chinese could take on such an enormously complex task and complete it in less than twenty years. Their success encouraged other nations to join the Lagrange Colonizing Project. The United States of America, always competing with the growing success of China, soon sent people into orbit and in AC 022 they began building a colony at Lagrange Point 1. They joined hands with the Japanese for financial and technical support. The project didn't go as smoothly as the L5 construction. The engineering crews ran into severe conditions and construction was delayed. By AC 050, thirty years into the project, the US decided to withdraw and terminate its space program.

However, life on the over-populated planet was becoming unbearable and some nations persisted with the project. Due to limited resources, disputes broke out between Earth nations; the program was depleting their already scarce means. The European nations began withdrawing from space before they would collapse under the burden.

Salvation for the space program came from no other than the Middle Eastern countries. Wealthy nations such as Saudi Arabia, Qatar and Kuwait searched for a new enterprise to invest in and joined the space colony project. With profuse amounts of money and energy resources to support them, the Middle Eastern nations began construction in space. They joined with the French to build the L3 colony. Soon the Americans resumed construction of L1. By AC 102, its construction was completed and the US moved on to build another colony at Lagrange Point 2. However, the construction was done rather poorly, due to their haste and depleted resources. Although functional, the L2 colony soon became known as "The Slums of Space."

The growing success of the program encouraged more nations to join and the colonization project flourished. Large population centers composed of multiple colonies, popularly known as "Colony Clusters", were constructed. The L4 colony cluster, constructed by the wealthy Middle Eastern countries, was the first to be completed. By AC 120, it became an extension of the Middle East in space. In a surprising turn of events, having recognized the need for a skilled population, the Arab nations signed peace treaties with the Jewish State of Israel, which was known to be a successful "Start-Up Nation". An Israeli colony was also constructed in the Middle Eastern Cluster, completing a perfect copy of the nations below.

By then, great conflicts had developed on Earth. Fleeing the various wars around the globe, civilians immigrated to space. By AC 130, 15% of the human population was living in space. Those who aspired for the good life, moved to the wealthy and advanced L4 colonies. Those unwilling to live under an Islamic or Jewish rule, compromised on a more difficult lifestyle at the rest of the Lagrange Point clusters.

The prison Duo had just been released from was located in the L4 cluster. It was a separate section of one of the L4 colonies; a space station which served as a penal colony. It was connected to the colony by a large tunnel-bridge. In times of uproar, the prison could be disconnected from the rest of the colony and sustain itself as an independent space station.

Less than an hour after signing Abu Fas'l's paperwork, the recently paroled ex-con stepped out of the confines of the penal space station and into the long bridge that connected it to the colony. He was now dressed in casual clothing: plain dark jeans and a red T-shirt with an imprint of a green, crazy-looking cartoon dog, his blood spewing everywhere as he was being slaughtered by a large army knife. He was carrying a battered old gym-bag; a 'Don't fear the Reaper' slogan was written on it in a gothic font. He stood and took a moment to observe his surroundings, taking it all in from behind a pair of dark sunglasses.

He made his way down the narrow road stretching across the space-bridge, leading towards the outskirts of the L4 space-colony. Not a car was in sight, nor was there any public transport. Duo walked along the road leisurely, tossing the folded combat knife up and down with the palm of his hand and whistling a catchy tune. After a while, he grew tired of playing with the small jackknife and shoved it into his jeans' pocket. He took out a cigarette and a lighter instead, and indulged in a smoke as he continued making his way towards the more populated area of the colony.

At twenty-seven years of age, Duo Maxwell bore little resemblance to the lanky teenage terrorist he once was. His clothes, which he had long outgrown, clung tightly to his tall and muscular frame. An abstract gothic tattoo adorned the entire length of his left arm. Aside from growing taller and becoming much more masculine over the years, Duo had also cut his hair shorter. The chestnut cascade was no longer gathered into a lengthy braid, rather it was cut to mid-length: reaching almost to his shoulders and layered so it was shorter at the front and longer at the back. Long bangs fell over his dark sunglasses, obscuring his vision some. Around his neck was a silver men's necklace with a thick cross pendant.

It felt good to be out of his prison uniforms. He had worn them for the past seven years and that was more than enough.

"Seven years," he muttered to himself as he took another drag on his smoke. "Fuck."

The gravel at the sides of the road crunched under his feet as he walked. He listened to his own footsteps absentmindedly, lost in thought. A new sound entered his daydreaming; a vehicle was slowing down by his side. Frowning, he stopped and turned towards a large black limousine now parked in front of him. The window at the driver's side rolled down to reveal a dark skinned man wearing a white turban.

"Mister Maxwell?" he asked with a heavy Hindu accent.

"Who's asking?" Duo muttered rudely.

The man nodded once, as if to approve of something, and at the push of a button, the door at the back slid open. "Please," he invited courteously, "get in."

Duo glared at him warily.

"Courtesy of Mister Winner," the Muslim driver explained.

Duo's expression turned even sterner. "I see," he said slowly as he leaned down to peek into the limo, examining its interior cautiously. "What's the catch?"

"There is no catch, sir."

"No shit," Duo rolled his eyes and threw his gym bag in. Securing his burning cigarette between his lips, he jumped into the back seat, making himself comfortable. The door slid shut with a quiet electric hiss. Frowning at the whole situation, Duo turned to the driver, looking at his reflection in the rearview mirror. The man sent him a short stern glance before turning to watch the road as he drove forward.

"So where are we headed?" Duo asked as he reached for the burning butt, took a long relaxing drag and released smoke into the air.

"To the spaceport, sir," the man replied reluctantly; "Mister Winner has arranged for a private flight."

"A flight? A flight where?"

"Anywhere you wish to go to, sir."

"Oh yeah? How come?"

"Mister Winner wants you off this colony – for good."

" _Now_ this shit makes sense," Duo sighed and leaned back into the leather seat, frowning as he smoked.

"If you say so, sir," the Muslim man muttered and pressed a button to close the partition between the passenger and the driver's cabin. Duo was left staring at his own sullen image reflecting off the smooth black-glass surface of the sliding-screen.

Sighing, he held his cigarette securely between his pursed lips and reached a hand into his pocket to pull out a crumpled old note. He unfolded it carefully, as if afraid it would tear, and then took the burning butt away from his lips, releasing smoke into the air. The writing on the note had nearly faded completely for it had been held and read so many times. In spite of the countless times he had stared at that note, feeling as if by reading it time and time again he was somehow getting closer to his goal, Duo re-read it once again, memorizing what he already knew:

_52 Edwards St._

_Philadelphia, PA_

_The United States of America_

_Earth Sphere Unified Nation._

He smiled weakly. "You just wait for me, man," he whispered; "I'm finally on my way."

*             *             *

 

[i] Crackers: slang for crack cocaine

[ii] C'mon, get going, you nut!


	3. Chapter 01: Arrival

**C hapter 01: Arrival**

 

Some damn dog was barking out a window. Its loud howls echoed throughout an urban Philadelphia city street. The desperate barking came from a low-rise residential building located in a crowded urban neighborhood, where white and red bricked buildings were crammed against each other in lengthy rows. A narrow one-way road divided the rows of buildings. Many cars parked along the sidewalk. It was a quiet side-street, leading up to a main road that was buzzing with traffic.

A bus pulled over up on the main road and allowed a passenger to exit. Duo stepped off the bus and hoisted his gym bag over his shoulder. The bus drove off, displaying a colorful side-advertisement of a tanned model in a bikini telling people to _'Get out, go party! Philadelphia Hot Summer Fest AC 207!'_

Watching the bus drive off, the young man used a free hand to nudge a pair of sunglasses off the top of his head and down over his eyes. It was high-noon and the blazing August sun flooded the streets of Philadelphia with an intense and unforgiving sunlight. It beat down on Duo's light chestnut-colored hair. With his eyes shielded from the glaring sun, he turned to scan his surrounding, searching for street signs to tell him where he stood.

Once he got his bearings straight, he headed into the narrow side-street from which a distant sound of a barking dog could be heard. The tall buildings blocked the hot sunlight, shadowing the narrow side-street. Duo reached for his pocket to pull out his box of cigarettes and green lighter. His gym bag bounced against his back as he walked and smoked nervously.

The damn dog was still barking loudly. Its barks emitted from an apartment building in the middle of the narrow street. Duo stopped in front of the building and, gazing up at the third floor, he squinted against the bright blue skies until he spotted the head of a large golden dog peeking out a window, howling. He then turned to look at the number of the building and smirked, pleased. It was as if the damn howling beast had beckoned him somehow. He had found the address he'd been searching for.

After taking one last drag on his smoke, Duo threw it to the ground and crushed it with his foot, which was clad in a heavy black boot. "Here goes nothing," he muttered grimly, secured his gym bag over his shoulder and headed into the building.

The air in the lobby was a bit cooler compared to the outside; cool, but still very humid. Duo was thankful for the relative coolness, for even the short walk from the bus stop had produced a sticky layer of perspiration all over his body. Philadelphian summer was hot and muggy. His colony-born body was unaccustomed to Earth's weather conditions. His red T-shirt clung to his stained armpits and chest, and his dark jeans were riding up his sweaty ass, giving him a nasty wedgie. Pulling at the garment on his backside, he then wiped off the sweat above his upper lip, sniffling loudly – feeling like a damned junkie.

_An ex-junkie,_ he reminded himself mentally and his face twisted with a sarcastic snarl. _I should get useta adding an 'ex' next to every damn title I give myself: an ex-Gundam pilot... an ex-junkie... an ex-con... and an EX-tremely fucked-up individual. Heh, good for me._

Snickering, Duo reached to push his sunglasses up over his head again. Then he turned to face the rows of mailboxes situated on the wall to his right. He scanned the various names of the apartment owners until he found the name he was seeking. A sly smile curled his lips upwards as he gazed at the name printed neatly on the mailbox: _'Hiro Nakasone, 6C'_.

"Gotcha," Duo whispered in triumph. He summoned the elevator and tapped his foot impatiently on the floor while waiting for it to arrive. Once inside, he continued to tap nervously on the elevator's floor as it made its way up.

To those who knew Duo – and very few did – it wouldn't have been hard to guess who he was coming to see so out of the blue. There were merely a handful of people who would be quick to put two and two together and conclude that _'Hiro Nakasone'_ was no other than Duo's old-time friend: Heero Yuy. His previous name was both legendary and notorious in the pages of After Colony history, but Duo cared very little for that. To him, the name Heero Yuy represented a kindred spirit, a comrade and a long lost friend. A comrade, because they had fought through the last war Earth and Space had known; long lost, because it had been over a decade since he had last seen the man; and a friend... well, that still remained to be seen.

Recent history told of great battles, heroism and despair which had taken place over a decade ago. Ever since the completion of the five Lagrange Point Clusters and the mass immigration of Earth citizens to Space, an inevitable conflict had developed between the Earth nations and their colonial counterparts. Eventually, the Colonies demanded autonomy and in a bold move, despite their dependency on Earth resources, separated from their mother planet. The Colonies turned to space and technology for resources. Great mining projects were initiated on numerous asteroids and on the moon. Large space stations were constructed in orbit of the Lagrange Point Clusters and served as Resource Satellites, supplying the Colonies with vital minerals, metals and energy.

While the Colonies prospered, Earth nations were still scavenging the planet and fighting over what little resources they could find. In an arrogant political move, the Colonies offered their assistance to the deprived Earth nations below. The proud Earth nations refused and in an effort to preserve life on Earth, they united into one nation: the United Earth Sphere Alliance. Countries that were once at war began cooperating and search for ways to better life for all Earth citizens. Once the Alliance became stable, it wasn't long before a military solution was reached. The Earth Sphere Alliance soon endeavored to bring the Colonies back under its rule, claiming that full cooperation would be the only way for humanity to survive, both on Earth and in space.

Earth oppressed the Colonies with brutal military force, forcing space dwelling citizens to abide by the Alliance's rules. The Alliance strove to yield space-resources for Earth's use and the population in space became practically enslaved by the powerful Earth Nation. The Colonies united in an effort to fight the oppression, but they could not compete with Earth's superior military force. With no other choice, the five Lagrange Clusters turned to guerrilla warfare. In an attempt to undermine the Earth Alliance with precise and crippling terrorist attacks, five superior fighting machines – popularly known as Gundams – were developed, and five young pilots were then sent to Earth to rain havoc.

But by AC 207, the last great battles between Earth and Space, more commonly known as The Battles of Christmas Eve, were just a distant memory; another footnote in someone's memoir, another chapter in a high-school textbook. Still, there were those who remembered it far more vividly than mere written words. There were those who still lived in its shadows and Duo was one of those people. Being one of the five Gundam pilots, he was one of very few who had experienced the battles like no other.

Heero was the same. Once, they had been comrades and there was even a time when Duo had dared to call them friends. However, after the "Eve Wars" ended, the pilots drifted apart, moving on with their lives. While he had a basic idea where the other pilots – Wufei, Trowa and Quatre – had settled down, until recently he had no clue as to what became of Heero after the war.

He had spent the past year searching for the lost ex-Wing ZERO pilot. With only scarce resources available for his use at the prison library, Duo had used every connection he had in the underworld to find Heero. However, even a thorough search had failed to come up with any records of a _'Heero Yuy'_ living anywhere on either Earth or the Colonies. Thus Duo concluded that Heero has assumed a new identity.

He could easily understand why Heero wished to disappear and change his name. Hardly anyone knew the other pilots by their names. Heero had solely carried the burden of recognition; his was the only name people associated with the Gundams. It was no wonder he wanted to change it and start anew. The name _'Heero Yuy'_ bore too many connotations to the war, since it was also the name of a martyr of the colonies, a famous politician assassinated for his ideals of peace. If Heero would have kept that name, the war would have followed him wherever he went.

Since Duo couldn't even begin to guess what kind of new identity Heero had assumed, picking up his trail seemed nearly impossible. However, luck was by his side and provided him with a recent breakthrough. When the war ended, the world became gracious enough to recognize the need to keep the peace and also acknowledge the people responsible for realizing it. Subsequently, at the end of the war the newly formed Earth Sphere Unified Nation government decided to reward the people who fought for peace with a handsome sum of money to be paid annually for a period of ten years. It wasn't long after the Mariemaia Uprising back in Christmas AC 196, that Duo had been contacted by government officials with the offer to give him the annual grant in gratitude for his efforts in the Eve Battles and his contribution to the containment of the Mariemaia Incident. It was hardly enough to make up for all he had been through, but it was a good start. It felt nice to finally be appreciated by the people he had fought to protect.

For the past decade, Duo relied on the annual grant for a living. It was a sum that usually went to cover various debts to numerous disreputable individuals. After receiving the final annuity payment a few months back, Duo had been struck with a brilliant idea: If he could get his hands on some records regarding the bank accounts the grant was being transferred to, he could probably find out where each pilot was and more importantly – what was Heero's new identity.

Getting his hands on that information required some questionable moves; Duo had put into use some illegitimate resources and semi-criminal methods in order to find his long lost friend; the only friend he had left in the world (or so he kept telling himself). After many frustrating months of searching, one of his contacts finally came through and provided a name: Hiro Nakasone.

To make sure that the name matched the person he was searching for, Duo asked a few old acquaintances of his, people who still owed him a favor, to track down _Mr. Nakasone_ and send him photos of the man so that he could identify him as Heero. He had more than enough connections with the right (or rather, _wrong_ ) people. They reported back to him with photos. Duo gaped at the surveillance pictures in disbelief. There were images of an older Heero Yuy: tall, slender and still striking in appearance, going about mundane life. After years of searching, he had finally found Heero. The ex-pilot was alive and well, living in Philadelphia.

Thus Duo now found himself in The City of Brotherly Love, hoping to find such kindness there once he would meet Heero. He was counting on the fact that Heero had severed his ties with the rest of the ex-pilots soon after the war ended. Since he hadn't been a part of their little group for over a decade, Duo assumed that Heero must be clueless about what had transpired. There hadn't been any news coverage about the incident that sent him to prison for the last seven years, so if he was lucky, Heero never heard about any of it.

The elevator chimed as it arrived on the third floor. Duo's restless foot ceased tapping. Once the elevator doors opened, he hesitated to exit. He remained standing inside, looking out at the corridor.

The barking was even louder now, since he was standing on the same floor as the howling dog. The sound was a bit muffled, coming from behind one of the doors. Duo listened to relentless barking, unable to take a step forward. Fear of rejection stirred wildly inside of him, rooting him to his spot. It took a few deep breaths and a short mental pep-talk to move forward again. Taking a deep breath, Duo clutched his bag's strap, ran a hand through his shoulder-length hair and then finally stepped out of the elevator. Slowly, he walked down the hall, scanning the numbers on the doors.

There were two apartments on the third floor. Apartment 6C was the one to the left, which meant that it was the apartment from which he saw a dog barking. It was Heero's dog. Duo was a bit surprised at the revelation; he had never imagined Heero as a pet owner. Then again, a person could change drastically over a decade. Hell, for all he knew, Heero could be completely domesticated: living with a wife, two brats, a mortgage and a fluffy dog named _'Smoochy'_. The surveillance photos he had received hadn't provided enough information to know for sure.

_The last thing he probably needs is_ **_me_ ** _popping outta fucking nowhere, dumping all ma shit down on him,_ Duo thought bitterly. He hesitated for a moment longer before finally working up the nerve to reach a hand up and knock on Heero's door. He knocked once, hesitant, and then added a few more knocks for good measure.

In a flash, the barking became louder and more desperate. Something large and heavy made its way towards the door, as an apparently _huge_ animal charged at it with a vengeance. It began scraping desperately against the wooden surface, clawing at the door and barking crazily.

If the knocking hadn't done the job, the dog's racket was probably more than enough to attract the occupant's attention. Duo waited nervously for Heero to answer the door, but other than the damn dog, no one else came. After a minute or so, Duo knocked again, but all he got in response was more barking and more scraping.

_Not home on a Sunday?_ He realized sadly, disappointed. _Or maybe he knows it's me somehow? No, that can't be... can it? I just got out today... What if Quatre told him? Fuck, if Heero knows then I'm really screwed. Where else could I go? Fuck, Heero, answer the damn door!_

He knocked again, almost frantically. The thought of Heero rejecting him was more than he could bear; it was frightening. Since the day he'd been told that his sentence was being reduced to seven instead of ten years' time, Duo began planning his reunion with Heero. During those months of planning, he had convinced himself that as long as he could see Heero, he would be able to get his life back on the right track. He kept telling himself that the ex-pilot would never fail him; he had never done so in the past.

_Shit, God I swear – if he opens the door and lets me in, I'm gonna put all that shit behind me. I swear._

During his seven years' time in prison, Duo had gotten close to God, searching for salvation in Christian faith instead of finding it in chemical substances. Even as a child, when he had been living in the Maxwell Church on L2, he had refused to acknowledge his Maker. He had learned at a very young age that there was no God to help him or the ones he loved. They all wound up dead and God didn't give a shit about that. So Duo had turned against everything he had been taught while being raised at the church. It didn't matter anyway, because the church, the Sisters and Father Maxwell were dead and gone. What little faith they had managed to bestow upon Duo, died with them.

At ten-years-old, mere months after the Maxwell Church Massacre, of which he was the sole survivor, Duo had already been using. Living on his own on the harsh streets of colony L2-V08744, drugs had given him a kind of sanctuary religious faith failed to provide. He would have most likely perished from an overdose in some filthy alleyway if not for running into Professor G back in AC 192. The old scientist took him in, forced him to kick the habit and once he was clean, trained him into a Gundam pilot. He had no time to rebound back to his addiction during training and while fighting. The war helped him to keep clean. It also reinforced his atheism, proving to him time and time again that there was no God to turn to and that faith in some alleged _Almighty_ was for the weak and the deluded. The only delusions he was willing to live with, were the ones provided by narcotics. That was why he quickly got back in the habit when the war ended.

However, seven years in prison changed that. Mortified and crippled by his addiction – a shameful dependency which led him to commit his crime – Duo fought to get clean once and for all. He had been brave and foolish enough to try to independently rehabilitate himself from drugs. Lying on the cot in his cell, he had gone through the roughest of the withdrawal symptoms all on his own, clutching the pillow, screaming, when he felt as though the torment would kill him.

It nearly had. His daredevil attempt to go cold turkey on his own took a bad turn and he was hospitalized at the prison clinic. He was then encouraged by _The System_ to keep clean. They even sent the prison Priest to his cell to consult him. The damn preacher came to him when he was most vulnerable. In his despair, Duo drank the man's words hungrily, replacing the deluding comfort of narcotics with the misleading promises of religious faith. Eventually, he replaced one dependency with another: he had turned away drugs and turned to God instead.

Without drugs Duo felt so utterly miserable, empty and alone, that he had no one else to turn to but the God he had forsaken long ago. He used to think that God was the one who had forsaken him, but somehow the Priest made him see otherwise. It all became so clear: God had turned his back on his suffering because he kept stubbornly rejecting his Maker. His God was a petty God, and it made perfect sense to Duo that such an almighty entity would be so arrogant and vain. God created Man in his image, and Mankind wasn't anything if not vain.

Through the Priest's preaching, Duo had learned that he must suck-up to God in order to deserve his blessing. That was how things worked. So he hung a Jesus on a Cross in his cell, got the largest cross pendant he could get his hands on – pure silver no less – and wore it day and night around his neck as a clear statement of his newly regained faith. He kept the Holy Bible in his cell and even attended Sunday Service regularly. God became a new addiction; a blinding and fanatic faith that fueled his anger, hate and resentment for life.

Duo wasn't looking for divine absolution. Repentance was none of his concern. He couldn't bring himself to feel contrition for past wrongs he had done; he was too angry to regret any of it. He was furious with his Lord and the feeling of betrayal was his source of strength. His faith was not about penance; his prayers weren't for salvation. He believed because he finally had someone to blame for the pain he had been subjected to. He believed because it helped him stay angry and the anger kept him going. It helped him avoid despair. At times when he was forced to be completely honest with himself, Duo acknowledged that he had turned into one of the _"bitter ones"_.

His faith was of the egotistic kind – a devotion for bitterness and shame. In his despair, Duo often cursed and condemned his Lord with blasphemous words, blaming Him for every wrong ever done to him. His faith was a love-hate relationship with his Maker; gratification achieved through self-flagellation. His faith was almost masochistic in nature, which suited Duo just fine. Pain always made him feel alive; without it, he was completely numb inside.

If nothing else, at least his faith eventually guided him back to the right track. With the aid of the prison Priest, Duo finally got his act straight and finally changed his attitude towards life. After he had ridden himself of his drug addiction, Duo also quit the illegal peddling operation he had been running in prison and finally managed to stay clean and out of trouble. He signed up to work at the Prison Industries and after a year of PI work, he even managed to get his sentence cut short for good behavior. His improvement and his newly found Christian faith impressed the parole board. They decided to cut his sentence short by three years, reducing it from ten to seven years' time. Finally, he was being rewarded for his faith!

The prospect of being released early had given him great joy at first, but soon the feeling of elevation was replaced by anxiety and fear. He realized that very soon he would have to handle himself outside the prison, back in the real world where trouble and temptation awaited him, ready to pull him under and make him sink again. Nothing waited for him on the outside; no one would be waiting for him once he was out of the slammer. There was nowhere for him to go and no one for him to turn to. He would slip back to his old self the minute he stepped back into the streets where he used to belong.

Duo realized that if he truly wanted to keep together, he had to find someone other than God to rely on; he needed someone tangible and reliable to turn to after his parole. That someone had always been Heero. Regardless of the man's blunt exit from his life after the war ended, Duo knew that he had no other choice but to look him up. He would have to work out whatever had led their friendship astray; otherwise, he was doomed to repeat the same cycle he was so desperate to break.

Anxious to finally consummate his long-awaited reunion with Heero, Duo gave up on knocking on the door and tried the doorbell instead.

"Hello?" he called after it buzzed loudly, but again his only reply was frantic barking. The damn dog even began slamming itself against the door.

"Shit," Duo cussed and took a step back, startled by a particularly loud thud. _What does Heero keep in there – a fucking mammoth?! Freaking beast... it's gonna tear the fucking door down! Shit, man, why aren't you home?!_

On instinct, he quickly reached for the back of his head, reflexively searching for the lock-picker he had always carried tucked securely in the thickest part of his braid. A quick break-in would be harmless; he'd be in and out of there before anyone could even notice. But as quickly as the criminal thought came to his mind, it soon vanished. Feeling foolish, Duo let his hand drop down, regretfully recalling that he no longer had a braid. He had chopped it off the day he was sent to prison, knowing full well that if he kept his precious plait, other cons would mistake him for a damn _sissy boy_. His young age, slim body and good looks were more than enough to give the dirty perverts the wrong idea. During his time in prison, Duo had exercised hard in order to achieve a burlier figure. He had no choice but to become a ruthless and deadly individual so that even the burliest bully knew that he was a force to be reckoned with; and indeed he was.

He considered using his switchblade to pick the lock, but then decided against it. Those days were behind him now. Breaking and entry was by no means an option. If he ever wanted to stand a chance in appealing to Heero, he had to get things started on the right foot. Heero was a harsh and intolerant individual, which was exactly what he needed in order to keep out of trouble.

Sighing tiredly, Duo let his gym bag drop to the floor and settled on it. He took the sunglasses off the top of his head and ran a hand through his shoulder-length hair. Sweat had accumulated on his scalp and he wiped it away. It was too damn hot in Philadelphia. Fatigued, Duo leaned his head back against the wall, toying with the sunglasses in his hands as he stared numbly at the ceiling and waited for Heero to show up.

*             *             *

An hour later Duo was still sitting on his gym bag by Heero's apartment door. He was dying for a cigarette, but he didn't feel like going back out to the blazing sun; a smoke wasn't worth the trouble. He would have smoked inside, but he had spotted a few smoke detectors throughout the hallway. He didn't want to get into any trouble (Heero would have his head for it), so he waited, staring at the ceiling, daydreaming to pass the time.

The damn dog was still barking, but Duo blocked out the sound so it was no longer a bother. Seven years in prison had taught him how to tune out many things. He had witnessed many horrors during his time in the joint, he had even taken part in some of them, but that life was behind him now. He was looking forward to making a clean start; a life away from all of the scum-of-society he had dealt with in the slammer.

Suddenly, the dog fell silent. With a short high-pitched wail, it ceased scraping against the door and finally settled down. The abrupt silence pulled Duo out of his dark musings. Still seated on the floor, he turned around so he could look at the door. The silence sounded so strange... unfamiliar. He waited for something to happen. Turning to look in the elevator's direction, he expected to see a new arrival, but none came; the hallway remained silent and empty.

Then he heard a metallic jingle behind the door: keys. The lock was being turned. Frowning, Duo quickly jumped up to his feet and turned towards the door. He wondered if someone had been there the whole time. The damn dog must have been barking for well over half an hour – why hadn't the occupant silenced it?

The front door to apartment 6C opened slowly. Suddenly anxious, Duo quickly ran a hand through his messy and sweaty hair, trying to look decent for a guy who was just released from prison and flew 150 thousand miles just to be standing in front of that door.

The door was opened fully to reveal a young man holding a large Golden Retriever by a leash. He was just about to step out the door, but when he noticed Duo he froze, halting abruptly. For a fleeting second, his eyes conveyed his surprise before his gaze hardened into a stony glare that was all too familiar to Duo. He couldn't help but grin excitedly; he was actually standing in front of ex-Gundam pilot Heero Yuy!

Heero was dressed simply, wearing a pair of gray slacks and a white/blue polo T-shirt. A familiar mop of scruffy chocolate-brown hair framed his harsh facial features. Duo had always assumed that Heero was of a mixed Asian/Caucasian descent, a quality which made him exceptionally appealing and adorned him with a pair of remarkably blue eyes. Those piercing Prussian blue eyes now gazed firmly at Duo from behind a pair of thinly framed black eyeglasses.

Much like him, Heero had grown taller, however, unlike Duo who had filled out into a muscular frame, Heero's figure was still very lean. His arms weren't as well-built as Duo remembered; his white/blue polo T-shirt hung sloppily from his shoulders, falling loosely around his slim frame. Heero's face had matured over the years, losing its once cheeky and boyish appearance. His high cheekbones were much more prominent now; his features were sharper and longer, still striking in their intensity and still extraordinarily handsome.

However, standing so close to Heero, Duo noted that the man's skin-tone was very pale; unlike the rich bronze tan he could recall stretching over taut muscles. A few days' worth of stubble covered his haggard face and dark circles were noticeable under his eyes, accented by his black eyeglasses. Overall, Heero's gaunt features, combined with the clothes that hung baggily over his lean body, gave him a rather decrepit appearance. The longer he stared, the more Duo realized that the person standing before him wasn't the fierce teenage boy he so fondly remembered, but rather there was a twenty-seven-year-old man who had obviously grown and changed into a full-fledged adult torn and tattered by the ordeals of his youth.

Heero's subtle frailty was alarming. As Duo recalled him, Heero had always possessed a raw kind of majesty. Even as a teenage boy, still growing and awkwardly being shaped into a man, he had radiated a sort of crude brilliance, hidden under layers of aloofness and reserve. That exquisite magnetism of his had captivated people in ways they couldn't quite grasp. There was something about Heero that made people act; it made them better somehow, it made them worthy of being in the same room with him. His unrefined allure swayed the hearts of friends and foes alike; it allowed him to carry the hopes of many on his shoulders. That was why Duo returned after all those years. No one but Heero would be able to make him worthy of living again, yet it now dawned on Duo that the person he had known and relied on must have changed. His brilliance had diminished significantly; perhaps it was because that in an age of peace, there was no more need for such a heroic allure.

He didn't want to face a shadow, a stranger. He needed _Heero_ ; he needed _his_ Heero, the unstoppable man who could bend steel and walk through fire for the sake of his convictions. Only _that_ Heero would be able to save Duo from himself. The realization that he might be gone frightened Duo more than he cared to admit, even to himself, and he stood there in a stupor, gaping at the stranger in front of him.

Heero too stood unmoving, staring blankly at Duo as he held the large Golden Retriever by a leash. He studied Duo quietly, staring at him long and hard; his gaze was as cold and calculated as always. For a moment Duo thought that Heero didn't recognize him. After all, he too had changed and was now very different from the goofy braided teenager Heero could probably recall. Duo briefly wondered if his appearance gave him away as an ex-con, but quickly dismissed the absurd notion.

"Hey man," he struggled to speak over the nervous lump forming in his throat, "you were in there this whole time? I knocked like a billion times." Not the best opening line, considering it has been over ten years, but it would have to do.

Heero remained silent. His eyes narrowed with a frown, conveying his dismay. His Prussian blue eyes scrutinized Duo from behind the pair of black eyeglasses, taking everything in: from Duo's shorter hair, to the heavy silver cross dangling over his red T-shirt and the dirty black boots on his feet. His glance paused to observe Duo's tight, obviously a size too small, T-shirt for a moment. He studied the image of an insane-looking cartoon dog being stabbed by a large army-knife as he laughed madly, his blood spattering all around. His eyes then shifted to look at the arm-length tattoo decorating Duo's left arm. Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, he turned to meet Duo's gaze; his eyes condemning.

"Uhm," Duo let out, feeling uncomfortable under the harsh glare and criticizing silence, "You _do_ recognize me, right?" he asked just to make sure, for Heero still hadn't given him a response (other than a frown that is).

"Yes," Heero finally spoke; his tone steady and callous. "How did you find me?" he asked quietly, looking at Duo with a stony expression. His voice still possessed that same calm near-whisper quality Duo remembered. He felt relieved to hear it. In fact, for a short moment, all he could do was gawk at Heero dumbly. Hearing Heero for the first time in over a decade made their reunion far more tangible, because he still sounded the same. He was finally face-to-face with the man who was going to save his life, his eternal soul and what was left of his sanity.

"Seek and you shall find, right?" Duo replied with a careless shrug of his shoulders.

Heero just kept scrutinizing him quietly. He appeared to be contemplating something difficult. Fearing that the man might ask him to leave, Duo hurried to explain:

"Listen, uh, Heero, I know this is kinda sudden, well, actually, it's like _totally_ out of the blue, but... I uh... see, I uh... I need your help, man," he let it all out in one breath, stumbling over his own words for he was suddenly very nervous. He usually wasn't; but Heero had that effect on him. He always felt as though he was being criticized for just about anything while in the presence of the infamous _"Perfect Soldier"_. Duo found himself fidgeting under the man's severe and unforgiving gaze. It took every ounce of mental strength he had in him to face Heero's firm blue eyes; the black eyeglasses made him appear even sterner... older. Damn, he looked so different!

"It's been over ten years," Heero stated dryly; his tone conveyed his displeasure clearly. He pinned Duo with his harsh gaze. "Am I still the only one you can rely on to keep your ass out of trouble?"

"It's just for a couple of days, I swear!" Duo blurted out quickly, "I just got outta— I mean, see, I ain't got nuthin' else goin' on and... It's just for a while! I swear ta God, just for a while."

Heero's frown deepened, creating worry-lines on his forehead. Combined with his eyeglasses, his pale features and the stubble on his face, the wrinkles made him look... old. Once again Duo wondered if he was indeed standing before the same person he had once known; this _Hiro Nakasone_ fella seemed far removed from the young man Duo had always admired.

Sighing, Heero turned to go back inside. "I can't help you," he said as he began closing the door, obviously choosing not to take his dog for a walk at that time. The large Golden Retriever cocked its head aside, confused.

"Try asking the others for help." With that, he closed the door and locked it behind him. The damn dog started barking again and Duo continued to stand in front of the closed door, gaping at it with disbelief. It took him a moment to process what Heero had just said.

_'Ask the others?' Why da fuck would he say that unless... Holy SHIT! He really doesn't know!_

Encouraged by the realization, Duo pounded against the door. "Heero!" he called, "Open the door! Heero! Please, man! I just wanna talk! Really! Just hear me out! Please!"

He wasn't going to give up so early into the fight; he was far too obsessed to think of anyone else other than Heero. He _had_ to convince the man to let him in! They _had_ to be friends again! Heero had to be the one who saves him – he had to!

"I swear ta God, Heero, just a talk. C'mon, man, we're buddies right?"

Despite his plea, Heero didn't return to open the door. Desperate, Duo leaned his forehead against the door, banging his head on it lightly.

"Heero?" he called softly this time, "Please, man... I ain't got nowhere else ta go..."

The dog barked once before quieting down; Heero must have silenced it. Then, the door opened bit by bit, just a slight crack. A pair of doubtful blue eyes peeked outside, studying Duo quietly behind black eyeglasses. Heero scanned Duo up and down. He frowned and leveled his gaze with Duo's.

"Are you in some kind of trouble?" He asked with clear disapproval in his voice.

"No," Duo assured him, "actually, I'm trying to stay _da Hell_ away from it for once!"

Heero's frown deepened. Finally, heaving an almost dramatic sigh, he opened the door fully. Stepping aside to make room for Duo to enter, he mumbled a silent "Come in."

"Thanks man, much obliged." Duo hurried to pick up his bag and enter the apartment before Heero would change his mind.

Heero slammed the door shut after Duo. He almost seemed upset, but Duo knew better. Heero would never let such obvious emotion show on his face.

The large Golden Retriever came charging at Duo, sniffing his legs and running between them in circles. Duo almost tripped and fell over.

"Chowder, no," Heero commanded tiredly and grabbed the large dog by its collar to pull it away from Duo. The massive canine thrashed about playfully, pulling Heero with it instead of the other way around.

"He's unaccustomed to strangers," Heero explained as he struggled to keep the excited dog at bay.

"Yeah, the damn thing was barking since before I got here."

"He's hungry," Heero muttered quietly as he dragged the struggling dog towards the kitchen. Chowder was still trying to pounce at Duo, even while it was being held back by its owner.

"I know the feeling," Duo said as he felt his stomach rumble in agreement (he was also famished).

Heero dragged Chowder into the kitchen. He opened a door leading to a small laundry room and pushed the dog inside, hurrying to close the door before the animal escaped.

Duo used that time to give the apartment a swift scan. It was a small residence, with a living room and kitchen separated by a long kitchen bar, and in between the two spaces was a corridor which probably led to the bath and bed rooms. The apartment was simply and modestly decorated. The interior design was tasteful, which surprised Duo. He wondered if the apartment was a rental and if the décor was done by the landlord, because there was no way that Heero would take the time to match the TV cabinet to the kitchen cupboards and the large black leather sofa to the elegant hardwood floor.

Judging by the various appliances Duo spotted around the apartment, Heero most likely earned a handsome income. In the living room stood a large flat screen television and in the corner was a small home office with state-of-the-art office appliances. The ex-Wing ZERO pilot seemed to be living in style, at least by Duo's standards, which made Duo feel a bit jealous.

Heero returned from the kitchen. He turned to Duo, looking like he had something to say, but kept quiet. Duo realized that much like in the past it was up to him to break the ice, but first things first. He turned to Heero, smiling sheepishly.

"Say man, mind if I use the bathroom? I've been holding it since orbit."

Heero nodded and gestured with his head towards the corridor. "It's the first door to the left."

"Thanks, buddy. Back in a jiffy!"

It was a joint toilet and bathroom – clean, spacious and tidy. Duo actually had to pause for a moment to take it all in. But even a modest bathroom seemed luxurious to Duo. It had been a long while since he had last used such a comfortable facility; prison never offered much privacy, nor did it keep strict rules regarding the inmates' hygiene.

Once he was done, Duo walked to the sink to wash his hands. There was a mirror hanging over the sink, which was also the door for a medicine cabinet. He gave himself a good onceover and decided that he looked like shit. He was so nervous that his face was sweaty, the red fabric under his armpits was stained with sweat and his hair was a fucking mess, damp with humidity. There were dark circles under his eyes, evidence of sleepless nights spent fretting over what might be.

Duo washed his face and ran a wet hand through his long hair in an attempt to tidy it up. After all, he was trying to make a good impression (not that Heero cared...). He took a moment to adjust his red T-shirt and wrinkled his nose when he realized how stinky he was. On a whim, he reached to open the medicine cabinet, hoping to find a deodorant.

He was surprised to see that the cabinet was full of round orange pill containers, all labeled with prescriptions. His curiosity got the better of him and he reached for one of the orange cylinders. It was a bottle of painkillers, prescribed to _'Hiro Nakasone'_.  There were other pill containers inside the cabinet. Duo recognized some of the medication as antidepressants, anti-psychotic agents and sleeping pills. Figures. PTSD was one nasty little bitch. He had a long list of his own prescriptions to take, which of course he didn't. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder or not, he was done doing drugs, prescribed or otherwise.

Duo shoved the pills back into place and closed the bathroom cabinet. For now, he would pretend like he hadn't seen anything. He decided that if he wanted to get things started on the right foot, he shouldn't mention that he had snooped around Heero's medicine cabinet.

Walking out of the bathroom, he spotted Heero in the kitchen. The young man was just taking something out of the pantry. There were three tall bar-chairs standing in front of the long kitchen bar which separated the kitchen from the living room; the chairs stood on the living room's side, facing the kitchen. Duo took a seat on one of them and leaned forward on the elegantly polished wooden bar surface. He watched Heero as he walked around the kitchen, preparing the ingredients for what would most likely be lunch.

The way Heero carried himself was something that Duo would never be able forget. Heero's distinct posture and steadfast pace were deeply ingrained into his mind. He always moved in a steady and precise pace, as though each step was carefully calculated before a leg swung forward. His manner was almost valiant for it seemed so resolute; it was almost as if he was marching towards a crucial destination and not a cupboard or a pantry. But then Duo noticed that Heero's posture and tread were not exactly as he recalled. There was something a bit _off_ with his stride. It seemed as though he carried a limp, his body tilting slightly to the left as he walked. Duo felt a pang of pain in his heart. He didn't want his hero to be damaged...

Heero pulled a can of crushed tomatoes out of the pantry. He placed it on the elegant black kitchen worktop, where a wooden cutting board and a few onions already waited. There were also two large pots waiting on the gas stove-top.

"The dog's quiet," Duo mentioned casually, hoping to start a conversation that would distract him from this damaged version of Heero standing before him.

"He's eating," Heero said as he turned to the kitchen worktop where he had placed the ingredients that would soon be lunch.

Duo realized that it was the first time he'd see Heero cook. Somehow, the image just didn't sit right with him. It wasn't something he had been accustomed to see during the war. Cooking hadn't been a part of their routine. In the scarce moments he _had_ seen Heero eat, it had usually been a meal at the dining room of one of the private boarding schools they had attended while posing as students, or a quick snack between battles. Never in his life had Duo entertained the thought of the _"Perfect Soldier"_ taking the time to cook a meal!

Duo had a certain image of Heero in his mind, an image that was very hard to shake. The domestic scene was never a part of that image. He usually associated Heero with the smell of gunpowder, sweat and soot, and _not_ home-cooking. Thoughts of Heero raised dim sensations of mortal peril and pure adrenaline. It was a thrilling impression, an electrifying rush bursting through him and burnt vigorously in his veins whenever he thought of the ex-Wing ZERO pilot. Thinking of Heero was like doing drugs; it was overwhelming enough to make his head spin.

In Duo's mind, the immediate connotation with the name _'Heero Yuy'_ was that of dark crimson blood, hot orange fire and fierce blue eyes. When thinking about his ex-comrade his mind would fill with snapshot images such as blood slowly oozing from a cut on Heero's forehead while he paid it no heed; nasty blue and purple bruises staining his limbs as he tossed and turned uncomfortably at night; a pair of intense Prussian blue eyes gazing at him sharply from the doorstep of a dark OZ prison cell; strong muscular arms bending _steel bars_ in an attempt to flee him to safety; a mere wince when he had set his own broken leg; a brooding look on his face while he was silently sipping a drink of water out of a straw. They were memories of a quiet, powerful and intense presence, of a fierce teenage warrior who had been willing to give his life for the cause without a blink.

Now, Duo felt odd looking at a twenty-seven year old man who bore little resemblance to the image he still had of him in his mind. The thought of losing the image of an idol saddened him, but Duo supposed that Heero couldn't have changed all that much. He still seemed quiet and brooding, remote as he had ever been. So what if he owned a dog, had a home office and cooked lunch. He was still Heero and that was all Duo needed to be sure that he hadn't lost his only friend.

Opening a drawer, Heero pulled out a large knife before grabbing an onion and preparing to chop it. When Duo turned to watch, simply out of boredom, he noted that for some reason Heero didn't notice that he was trying to cut the onion with the wrong side of the blade. He was holding the knife pointing upwards, with the blunt end of the blade unsuccessfully cutting the onion. Duo was about to say something about it, but then Heero realized his mistake and turned the knife back in the right direction. He released a quiet sigh and began chopping the onion. His movements were slow and careful, deeply concentrated on every move he made. Duo frowned at the odd occurrence. Something like that would have _never_ happened to the _"Perfect Soldier"_.

Heero suddenly hissed in pain and Duo looked up, concerned. He noted that the young man had cut himself while chopping the onion. He let out an annoyed grunt and placed his bleeding finger in his mouth, sucking on it to stop the bleeding.

For a long moment, Duo just gaped. He simply couldn't take his eyes off Heero's pale lips curled around his slender finger, sucking the injured flesh. He swallowed hard and tore his gaze away, only to fix it on the man's behind.

_Shit,_ he cussed mentally and fidgeted in his seat. _This ain't happenin'. I ain't thinking 'bout that shit! No chance in all of freaking Hell!_

He continued to stare at Heero's ass.

_Shit._

Duo forced himself to look away.

"Need any help?" he looked up at Heero and asked. He was feeling awkward. What was this sudden sexual fixation on his only friend's body? Why in God's name was he doing that?!

"No," Heero muttered as he examined his injured finger, bringing it close to his face, to see it better as he made sure the bleeding had stopped. He then returned to chopping the onion, finishing with the first one and then reaching for the second onion. This time, he looked at the knife closely, making certain that the blade was facing the right way. He adjusted his eyeglasses over the bridge of his nose and chopped the second onion as well.

Duo's eyes continued to linger after Heero's every movement, his gaze on the verge of lust. _Fuck!_ He panicked internally. Why couldn't he stop _ogling_?!

"What'ja makin'?" he asked in an attempt to find a distraction.

"Spaghetti and meatballs," Heero replied quietly.

"Oh yeah… I remember you like those," Duo said with a nostalgic smile and Heero stopped what he was doing for a moment, frowning.

"I never said I did," he claimed warily.

"Sure you did," Duo insisted; "Because they remind you of the frozen spaghetti and meatballs you used to eat when you were a kid. You said that they were _yucky_ but you ate 'em anyway..."

"Now I know you're making this up, because I would never use the term _yucky_."

Duo laughed. "Okay, maybe those weren't your _exact_ words, but I'm pretty sure you told me about it once. I didn't know you could cook 'em, though."

"I can't live on _battle rations_ ," Heero retorted acerbically; he was chopping angrily now, a bit _too_ angrily.

"Right, good point," Duo chuckled. "I keep forgetting it's been ten years. Things sure have changed, right?"

"I suppose," Heero grunted. He finished chopping the second onion and then poured some olive oil into a pot waiting on the stove, turned the burner on and threw the chopped onions inside.

"So, uh, you seem to have some pretty good shit goin'," Duo tried again, gesturing at the fancy living room. "What do you do in life?"

Heero paused, apparently surprised by the blunt question. He took a wooden spoon and stirred the onions simmering inside the pot.

"I try to live it out," he gave a short and bitter answer.

"Yeah? And how's that working out for ya?" Duo tried to joke, but Heero didn't seem to appreciate it. Without offering a reply, he took a can opener out of a drawer and opened the can of crushed tomatoes.

Duo sighed quietly, discouraged from speaking. He watched Heero pour the crushed tomatoes into the pot, along with the chopped onions. They sizzled loudly, filling the kitchen with a delicious aroma of home cooking. Heero added water, some fresh herbs, salt and pepper, and stirred them all together. Duo watched silently, somewhat impressed. He couldn't cook for the life of him. It was just another skill out of many he never bothered developing after the war; he hadn't wished to live a normal life, so he never made an effort to learn anything new and productive.

"What have you been doing with _your_ life?" Heero suddenly asked, surprising Duo, who didn't expect Heero to return the favor and be so candid.

Looking up, he ran a hand through his shoulder-length hair. "What have I been doing with my life?" he repeated the question, buying some time so he could come up with a more or less evasive answer. "Well, I, uh, I mostly screw it up," he replied in a bleak tone of voice, being as vague as possible. "That's more or less what I do," he shrugged.

"Are you in some sort of trouble?" Heero asked for the second time since he had arrived.

"Not lately, no," Duo replied slowly, "It's like I told ya already – I'm trying to stay _out_ of it for a change."

Finally, Heero turned to face him. His gaze was extremely intense; it demanded nothing short of complete honesty. Duo found himself speechless under the compelling Prussian blue gaze. Heero's presence was as fierce and powerful as ever. Even though Heero seemed somewhat smaller compared to him, his posture and demeanor were as sturdy as ever. His blue eyes just as ruthless as they had been back then. Everything about him radiated confidence and therefore strength. It was an unmistakable trace of the soldier Duo had admired and a certain part of him twitched inside his jeans, reminding him of the lack of attention it had suffered lately. Duo did his best to ignore it.

"Is that why you came to me?" Heero demanded to know, "So I'd keep you out of trouble?"

Duo had to clear his throat in an attempt to find his voice again. "I guess," he mumbled and cast his gaze down, embarrassed. He hated himself for being this honest with Heero. He felt like a pathetic scumbag.

Heero sighed and Duo dared to glance up at him again, afraid to see the disappointment in his eyes.

"Is there something you need from me?" Heero inquired harshly, "Is it money?"

While Duo really wanted to answer the question, all he could do was gape at Heero, unable to speak. Somehow, the young man standing before him, looking like a complete _dork_ with his unfashionable gray slacks and white/blue polo shirt stained with tomato sauce, his long untrimmed bangs falling over his black eyeglasses while he stood stiffly, holding a wooden spoon and looking at him with demanding blue eyes was the sexiest thing Duo had seen in _years_.

_Fuck man, am I actually getting horny? Shit. This is unreal._

"No... I didn't come here for any of that money stuff 'n shit," he finally answered Heero's question, trying to ignore the uncomfortable tightness inside his jeans. "I just need a... a friend, I guess. Someone who'd let me stick around until I get ma shit back together."

Heero turned back to face the stove.

"You came here looking for a _friend_?" he muttered skeptically as he filled a second pot with water and slammed it down on the stove in a surprisingly open display of emotion. He didn't say another word as he waited for the water to boil, nor did he turn to face Duo again.

Duo swallowed hard, not because he was offended by Heero's blunt skepticism, but because he was unable to tear his eyes off Heero's ass. He tried to control his shortening breath, attempting to keep his growing arousal in check.

_Heero ain't like those boys in prison. He ain't like that. I can't fuck him up like that. I_ **_can't._ **

He had seen many awful things in prison: rape, violence, blood and gore... He had even participated in some of those atrocious abusive acts. But all of that changed after he found God. For the past few years, ever since he had turned to God instead of drugs, Duo has been denying himself of any sexual contact in prison. He had found that the mere thought of it disgusted him. So, all things considered, it was no wonder he felt aroused even at the most benign sight, right? He was horny as Hell!

Oblivious to Duo's inner struggle against his dark impulses, Heero walked to the refrigerator to take a glass container full of raw, and apparently homemade, meatballs. Walking back to the stove, his slight limp painfully evident, he threw them one by one into the pot full of boiling tomato sauce. Duo continued to sit by the kitchen bar, resting his head against his arm and leaning forward on the polished surface. He watched Heero silently as the young man limped to the small pantry at the other side of the kitchen and pulled out a pack of spaghetti. He threw the pasta into the boiling water and stirred.

Looking at Heero's bony backside, Duo paid careful attention to the way the young man's shoulder-blades moved as he stirred. Heero was so thin that his shoulder blades were clearly showing under the fabric of his white/blue polo T-shirt. He looked so... _brittle_ , but still he stood firmly in place, his shoulders stiff and his posture as sturdy as ever. It was a confusing mixture; in front of him was a young man who seemed completely worn-out, and yet, since Duo remembered him being so strong he could bend _metal bars_ , he still saw a man with an overwhelmingly powerful presence.

Again his groin tickled with a familiar sense of arousal.

_Dammit, get a hold of yourself ya fuckin' shithead! Fuck!_

Taking a deep breath, Duo reached to hold his cross, drawing strength from the feeling of the heavy silver cross against his skin. He toyed with the cross pendant between his fingers, swinging it back and forth.

_I can do this,_ he assured himself. _People are more than just a piece of ass. And Heero's DEFINITELY more than that! He's my only friend. I can do this. I can make this shit go away. I don't haffta fuck to be happy. I don't haffta. I can make it so that we'll be friends again. Just friends, I swear ta God..._

Duo decided that the minute he had the time to do so, he would go out and find himself a good one-night-stand.

_No! NO! People are MORE than just a piece of ass! I know that! God knows I had enough therapy to know that! I know it! I do! But... even that damn priest would haffta agree with me that it's better to fuck some stranger up the ass then think about how I can desecrate my only friend... right?_

_...right?_

At times like this, Duo really wished that he could still consult with his priest. He simply didn't know the answers by himself. Sex was an addiction, one far greater than drugs. It became even worse after he had stopped using.

_But I'm better than this now. I don't need to fuck to be happy;_ he repeated the mantra over and over again. _Fucking won't make me happy—just for a while, maybe—no! It won't. I don't need to fuck to be happy._

His priest would have applauded his efforts, but in the end, Duo knew that they would prove futile. No amount of chanting the stupid mantra could ever cure him of his obsession. Men, women... boys, girls... it didn't matter. If there was a hole into which he could shove his manhood – he wanted in. The compulsive urge was just something he had to learn to keep under control for the rest of his life. But dammit, it was hard! Everything in the God damned world was simply dripping with sex. Wet, hot, steamy sex... Quick, hard and violent sex... Soft, tender and loving sex... In all shapes and sizes.

He briefly recalled the image of the model in a bikini which was plastered all over the bus that drove him here. He would have fucked her good, that one. He would have torn off her tantalizing little swimsuit and fucked her right there against that fucking city bus. He could picture it clearly: the tall enticing brunette slammed against the hot metallic surface of the bus, her perky white tits scorched with pleasurable burning pain as she hit the heated metal. She would scream in ecstasy, her slim hands shooting up into the air, banging against the bus while he fucked her like a bitch from behind. He would flip her over quickly and her long legs would wrap around his waist tightly as he would continue thrusting into her right there and then in front of a dozen appalled passengers... Fuck yeah. That would definitely be enough to calm the irksome burning in his loins.

_Just IGNORE it,_ Duo told himself and struggled to focus on anything but Heero's body or thoughts of that model. _Ignore it and it'll go away. You ain't fucking anyone today, so just IGNORE it._

The kitchen was filling with a mouthwatering aroma of tomatoes, herbs and meat. Duo tried hard to concentrate on the hunger in his stomach instead of his loins'. Straightening in his chair, he rested his arms on the bar top and folded his palms together, balling them into a nervous fist. Hesitantly, he looked up at Heero, whose back was still facing his way.

"Look, uh... Heero," he began slowly, hoping to gain the other man's attention and maybe even earn a glance, but Heero didn't turn to face him. Sighing, Duo decided to continue anyway.

"See, I know that, I mean, I _bet_ I know that you're pissed as Hell at me and the guys. For leaving, I mean. You know... when things were finally over." He paused for a moment, waiting for Heero's reaction, but other than stiffening his shoulders further, Heero didn't say a word.

"It was selfish," Duo continued carefully, hoping that Heero was at least listening. "We hurried to carry on with our lives and it wasn't sumthin' friends should do. We shoulda checked up on you... made sure you were doin' okay."

The dog began barking and scraping against the laundry room's door. Heero went to open it and let the animal out. The large Golden Retriever quickly ran out of the small room and began circling the kitchen, getting in Heero's way as he tried to get back to the stove.

Duo wondered if he should even bother to continue, because Heero didn't seem to be paying him any attention. The young man was more concerned with the damn dog than with him. He watched Heero use the wooden spoon to scoop a meatball out of the pot and serve it to the dog. The damn beast practically _inhaled_ the food off Heero's hand, licking the man's palm when it was done eating. Duo found it repulsing. The damn _mutt_ was slobbering all over Heero's hand.

Heero patted lightly on the dog's head and returned to tend his cooking.

"What's its name again?" Duo asked, thinking that perhaps it would be better to speak about something Heero actually cared about. It seemed to work, for Heero finally responded.

"Chowder," he said quietly as he stirred the spaghetti in the pot.

"Chowder? Like the fish soup?"

"Yes."

"Why name a dog after a soup?"

"Because," Heero mumbled as he scooped another meatball out of the pot; he handed it to Chowder, who consumed it hungrily.

"Because what?"

"Just because."

"Makes sense," Duo muttered sarcastically. "It's a popular dog name, ain't it?"

"I suppose it is."

"Yanno," Duo added lightly, hoping that now that he had Heero's attention he could finally say what was on his mind for the past year. "I was kinda hoping we could start over, or pick up where we left. Whichever idiom suits you."

This time he was _sure_ that Heero would react somehow, but the other young man remained silent. Chowder seemed to be listening though, staring at him curiously and watching him with its big dumb brown eyes.

"I mean, it's not like you made any effort to keep in touch, right? Communication goes both ways, yanno? But I ain't mad or nuthin'. I mean, if things were the other way around, I wouldn't shut the door in your face or anything like that."

Heero finally turned to face Duo; there was a spiteful and angry look in his deep blue eyes. He leaned against the kitchen-top, crossed his arms over his chest and fixed his stern gaze on Duo.

Duo swallowed. "But, uh... I mean... okay, that's not the best of excuses, but cut me some slack here, okay? We just got out of a nasty war… I needed a break, yanno?" He sighed, shaking his head guiltily. "Maybe I shoulda handled things better, but you didn't stick around so I couldn't even _try_. You just split, man!" He dared to look up at Heero again. The man was still looking at him sternly. Duo wasn't even sure what he was being accused of anymore.

"It's not like I was the only one who left when shit ended... and hey! It seems like I'm the only one who came back, so I get credit for that –  right?" He wasn't really sure _what_ he was trying to say anymore, or if he really wanted to know Heero's thoughts on the matter. All he wanted was to sweep matters under the rug and move on already!

But by the time he was done ranting, Heero seemed even angrier, almost insulted. He glared harshly at Duo. "I wasn't waiting for anyone to _come back_ ," he remarked coldly; the sting in his tone seemed to suggest otherwise. "Have you even considered that I had my reasons for _splitting_?"

Duo sighed petulantly. He could tell that Heero was being purposefully nasty, imitating him in a cynical and scornful way. It wasn't like the Heero he used to know. The Heero he used to know wasn't so damn _bitter._

"Listen, man," he tried again; "bottom line is – I know you're mad but I'm here now and I wanna make things better. And I ain't leaving 'til they are – got it?"

It was very forward and very harsh, but to the best of his knowledge, Heero always responded best to rough treatment.

Silence fell over the kitchen. Curious by the exchange of words, Chowder turned its head back and forth from Heero to Duo, waiting for one of them to speak again.

"I'm giving you _one week_ ," Heero finally muttered and turned back to the stove. He stirred the meatballs inside the tomato sauce, his back facing Duo and his shoulders stiff with silent anger.

"One week," he repeated as he grabbed a stainless steel colander that was waiting by the stove-top. Chowder stood up, wagging its tail, happy to see that food would soon be served. "For old times' sake," he explained. "Get your act back together by then, because after that, you're out of here."

Heero turned off the burner swiftly. Chowder let out a single bark, as though warning Heero about an unseen menace.

Duo grinned. "Thanks man, you won't regret it."

*             *             *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to check out the teaser I made for this story! Just click [ here ](https://www.dropbox.com/s/qff0rm9c068un6p/One%20Week%20Trailer.pdf?dl=0) (it's a dropbox link).


	4. Chapter 02: Stumble

**Chapter 02: Stumble**

 

Pleased with himself, Duo sat still while Heero served two plates full of spaghetti and meatballs to the kitchen bar, which also served as a dining table. After pouring the leftover spaghetti and meatballs into a bowl and placing it on the floor for Chowder to eat as well, Heero dragged a bar-chair to the other side of the counter, opposite from where Duo was sitting, and finally sat down to eat.

The two young men ate in silence. The only sound to fill the apartment was that of the dog loudly devouring the food in its bowl, content with its share of the meal. Duo held his fork up in the air, not touching his own meal even though he was starving. All of a sudden, he had lost his appetite. Now that he had Heero back – at least for a week – he was nervous. Heero's courtesy felt like nothing more than an old obligation being fulfilled reluctantly.

One week; it was more than he probably deserved, but still – he had hoped for so much more. He had hoped for acceptance. He tried to apologize and still Heero was treating him with eerie politeness and barely contained rage. Duo could see the resentment in Heero's eyes. It hurt even more than the look in Quatre's eyes after— no, he shouldn't think about that right now. He was in a foul mood as it were... He didn't need to think about _that_ at the moment. For now, he should concentrate on finding a way to get on Heero's good side again. Heero was still his friend. All Duo had to do was remind him they were friends. After he would jog Heero's memory up a bit, the man would see that them being together again was the most natural thing in the whole fucking world. He wouldn't have it any other way.

Duo finally turned to his meal. He was surprised by how good it tasted and decided that a compliment to the chef was a good start as any. "This is great," he said, taking another mouthful of the dish. "Really, I'm impressed. The only thing I can do for lunch is order takeout." _Or bully some fresh-meat inmate into giving me his meal_.

Heero nodded in acknowledgment and continued to eat silently.

"Do you want me to do the dishes later?" Duo offered with a forced friendly smile.

Heero shook his head. "I have a dishwasher."

"Man, you sure are living in style."

"It's a dishwasher, not a _Ferrari_ ," Heero muttered, his voice dripping with bitter sarcasm. He reached for his glass of water and sipped it quietly, avoiding eye contact.

Duo stared quietly at Heero. There it was again: blunt cynicism. It was not something he was used to hear in Heero's voice. Hell, he wasn't used to hear _anything_ in Heero's voice! As far as he could recall, the guy used to talk like a damn automaton. It would have taken a fucking _A-bomb_ shoved down his throat in order to make his voice waver even the slightest.

"Yeah, well, it's more than I could ever afford," Duo finally responded and shrugged, trying to appear careless.

"The annuity payments should have provided you with enough money," Heero pointed out as he placed his drink down. "Combined with any occupation," he continued lecturing, "it should have been more than enough for you to live a comfortable life. What have you been wasting your money on?"

Duo chuckled sheepishly. "Oh, yanno... just some stuff I shouldn't have purchased," he did his best to remain vague. "It ate up all of my savings." _And not to mention my fucking_ **_mind_ ** _,_ he added mentally.

"Are you in some kind of debt?" Heero asked... for the _third_ time now?  Duo frowned. Was he so hard to believe that Heero had to keep asking the same damn question? Was he trying to catch him in a lie?

"No, no, really, I ain't," he reassured Heero with a shrug of his shoulders. "I already covered all of my debts, paid all of my dues... heh..." he laughed uneasily, "but it left me kinda broke and sorta homeless..."

Heero adjusted his eyeglasses and turned to gaze at Duo evenly. "Don't you have any friends to turn to?"

After a short pause, Duo shook his head. "Uhm, no, not really," he confessed. He hadn't missed out on the fact that Heero had deliberately excluded himself from the question; he didn't ask if he had any _"other"_ friends, so he obviously didn't consider himself as one.

Heero seemed skeptic. "So you're telling me that, in over ten years, you haven't made any new connections with people." It wasn't a question, more like a statement. The Heero he used to know didn't ask useless question.

"Oh, no!' He hurried to exclaim. "I made plenty of 'em! Just not the kind connections I shoulda made, if yanno what I mean..."

Heero frowned. "I don't," he let out dryly and turned back  to his meal. "What about the others?" He then raised the question Duo was afraid would come.

Instead of answering it, he got up quickly and grabbed his plate. "How about I put this stuff in the dishwasher for you, huh?" He offered, trying to change the subject. He marched into the kitchen without waiting for an answer. Heero turned in his chair to face him. It didn't look like he was going to let him off the hook so easily.

"You done with that?" Duo asked, pointing at Heero's unfinished meal.

Heero nodded and pushed his plate towards Duo.

"What do you mean by making the wrong connections?" he demanded; "Are you in trouble?"

"No, man! Would you quit asking me that?! Didn't you believe me the first couple of times I said it? Gimme a break, already!"

Angry, Duo snatched the glasses and utensils off the table as well, before heading back to the dishwasher.

Sighing, Heero got up, preparing to leave the kitchen.

"Damn it..." he muttered tiredly, rubbing the bridge of his nose as though to ease a headache. Alarmed by Heero's grave tone, Duo whirled his head up to look at the other man. Heero was going to kick him out, wasn't he? Shit.

"Look, Heero..." He let out, still leaning over the dishwasher. He straightened up and tried to conjure up an honest expression while facing his host. It was hard looking Heero in the eye, but he did it anyway.

"I made some major fuck-ups over the years, okay?" He admitted with a bleak sigh. "But I really don't wanna talk 'bout it right now, so, just this once, cut me some slack, 'kay? I could really use a friend so please just gimme a chance to get my act back together before I start explaining shit."

For a moment, Heero stood silently, looking at Duo with contemplating blue eyes. Then, his expression hardened coldly. "Do _not_ confuse my offer of hospitality for friendship." He pushed his glasses up to rub the bridge of his nose, wincing slightly. It looked like he was dealing with a nasty headache.

At the silent sign of distress, Chowder approached its owner and nuzzled its face against the man's legs. In return, Heero reached a hand down to pet the dog's furry golden head. Duo observed the two silently, frowning. He had never seen Heero allow anyone or anything offer him comfort before. Hell, he had never seen him display weakness so openly before. He didn't know why, but he felt betrayed by the atypical sight.

The tense silence was becoming eerie. The young man simply _stood_ there, unmoving, his arms dangling limply at the sides of his body. He was staring at Duo numbly as though looking straight through him.

"Then, uhm, at least lemme clean this mess up for ya," Duo suggested carefully.

Heero blinked and leveled his gaze with Duo, this time focusing directly at him. His pale features hardened into a familiar glare. "I can take care of my own _damn mess_ ," he grumbled sullenly; "I don't need you to screw things up as you usually do."

"Da Hell, man?" Duo called in protest; "Da fuck you mean I screw shit up?" he objected almost automatically. For a split of a second he was attacked by a nasty sense of déjà vu, like he had just traveled back in time and was bickering with Heero over battle-skills or whatnot.

"I ain't some dumb klutz, yanno!" He whined as he had done so many times before, playing the fool just for the sake of a friendly squabble. It felt awkward. He had long outgrown having to justify himself to Heero, yet there he was, arguing much like he had done during wartime.

"I piloted a damn _Gundam_ for God's sake! I think I can load a fucking _dishwasher!_ Fuck, I can do both at the same time – with my eyes closed and my hands behind my back!"

Heero frowned, like he was finding it hard to decipher the long and hasty stream of words pouring out of Duo's mouth. Eventually, he shook his head, sighing in disappointment. "That's exactly my point," he replied steadily; "You make a parade out of everything. You're too conspicuous. All you care about is making fri—" Suddenly, Heero fell abruptly silent, as though he had just realized something was terribly wrong. He hurried to close his mouth shut and bowed his head to gaze at the floor, while mumbling a silent: _"shit"._

Duo frowned warily. "You okay man?"

"I'm fine," Heero muttered and looked back up again. Without sparing Duo another glance, he turned towards the corridor. "I'm going to bed."

"To _bed_?" Duo repeated in wonder; "Already? Are you sure you're okay? Da Hell's goin' on with you? Da fuck was this about anyway?"

Heero's back, which was now facing Duo, stiffened. "Be quiet," he muttered disdainfully and let his shoulders slump down. He walked away without another word. Chowder followed Heero, wagging its tail. Duo remained standing alone in the kitchen, frowning in confusion. He heard Heero close his bedroom door behind him, and his frowned deepened. What the Hell just happened here?

*             *             *

With nothing better to do after Heero locked himself in his room, Duo turned to clean the kitchen. Soon the small dishwasher was loaded and the kitchen was sparkly clean. Duo had even wiped off the mess Chowder had made on the floor, spilling spaghetti and meatballs all over the place. It felt good to be helpful. He felt a little more worthwhile now that he could help Heero, even if it was just a little thing like cleaning up after a meal.

It was too damn hot. Plopping down on the black leather sofa in the living room, Duo shed his sweaty red T-shirt and threw it the floor. Shirtless, he remained only with a silver necklace and a cross pendant falling over his slightly hairy and well-toned chest. Bending down, he took off his heavy black boots and wrinkled his nose at the stench of his smelly socks. He took them off as well and shoved them into his boots. Wriggling his toes, he leaned back against the sofa, placed two hands behind his head and sighed contently as he melted against the sofa.

_I sure missed the simple things..._ He mused, stretching his arms lazily above his head. Finally, after nearly a decade, he felt normal again. He felt like himself again... like the person he could always be next to Heero. For a brief moment, his mind was clear. He wasn't even thinking about sex – a rare occasion indeed. Coming to see Heero was a good idea. He was finally able to think straight and that was already great progress. The dirty thoughts that ran through his head while Heero made lunch were just a stupid slipup; an abnormality caused by jetlag, hunger and fatigue. Yeah, that must be it. He would never think of Heero _that_ way. Never. Heero was too sacred to be defiled by such foul, sinful, thoughts. He will _never_ touch Heero that way... not ever. He will never touch anyone that way again. _Never_.

Duo squirmed uneasily on the sofa. He knew that he was lying to himself. The cross hanging over his nude chest suddenly felt a bit heavier than usual. Somewhere many miles away, his priest was probably frowning scornfully, as he always did when Duo confessed his sinful desires and acts of desecration. Confession was like sweeping his sins under the rug. He was always offered forgiveness in prayers. His sins were washed away every Sunday and maybe that was why he had continued sinning Monday to Friday. He had a prison-bitch for every day of the freaking week... a whole entourage of _pussy-boys_. It was well known around the L4 penal colony that it was better to give him what he wanted rather than to face the consequences of his dismay.

There was this one bitch-boy... Ali. He used to call him _"Ally"_ for fun. He was a young and taciturn Mediterranean boy with smooth dark-mocha skin, a wild mane of thick black hair and a fierce pair of honey-brown eyes that gleamed with cold, stern, defiance. The boy was doing time for petty acts of terror against the Israeli Colony in the L4 cluster. Duo could still remember the first time he had laid eyes on him. The kid soon became one of his favorite punks in prison. He was the one who turned him into a pussy-boy in the first place and he took pride in that achievement. _Ally_ was better off with him anyway. But instead of thanking him for taking him under his wing and protection, the damn kid finally killed himself. His priest said that it was his fault for abusing his power over the poor kid. That was bullshit. The kid was tough, spiteful and fierce. That was why he had enjoyed him so much... enjoyed breaking him and then picking up the pieces, only to break him again and again... Maybe that was what hurt Ally— _Ali_ the most. If he hadn't shown any kindness at all, perhaps Ali would have been able to take it, to survive by his defiance alone. The kid simply didn't know what to make of the compassion he had bestowed on him from time to time, and that was why he chose to end the abuse by taking his own life.

That was a major wake up call, and the reason why he decided to ditch drugs and sex and turn to God for absolution instead. He filled his head with words of the Lord rather than thoughts of carnal lust. He had vowed that Ali will be his last sin, and that was why Heero had nothing to worry about. All he sought was friendship, really. As God was his witness, his _"pussy-boys days"_ were over. Heero was to be his sanctuary from all sinful thoughts.

But Heero wasn't around at the moment and he was _so_ hot...

Duo's sweaty nude back stuck to the leather backrest, becoming an uncomfortable nuisance. The smell of leather and sweat reeked of sex and threatened to compromise the scarce calmness he felt. It was so damn hot and humid. The sultry heat was too much. It was so... _steamy_.

"Fuck it," Duo grumbled and wiped the sweat off his brow swiftly. "I ain't goin' down this road..." he promised himself and got up. He went to close the large living room window. Bright afternoon sunshine was flooding the apartment, heating it up, so he also shut the wooden blinds. Once shaded, the apartment already felt much cooler. He could breathe again without hearing needy gasps in the back of his head.

As he was standing by the home office which stood under the window, Duo spotted a high-tech air conditioning unit hanging on the wall above it. He turned to search for the AC's remote control, assuming that it lay somewhere on the desk.

It was a small and neat home office. He supposed that Heero was running some sort of business from home. Duo wondered what the business might be, because it looked like Heero was earning a fine income out of it. Everything was arranged neatly on the desk: writing supplies, a rolodex, a calendar, post-it notes and a pocket planner.

Curiously, Duo flipped the planner open and leafed through a few pages. Heero's handwriting filled the pages and Duo realized that he had never seen his handwriting before (Heero had always used a tablet or a laptop, never mere pen and paper). He took a moment to look closely at the few lines written here and there. Looking at the letters raised a funny gooey feeling in his chest. There was something very personal about one's handwriting; some believed it to be a window into one's soul. Looking at the writing made him feel as though he was looking at something very intimate and very _Heero_. His writing wasn't as neat and accurate as he had expected from someone so disciplined. The letters were small and round, introverted like the person who wrote them, but the writing didn't follow a straight, tidy, line. Up and down they went, tilting slantwise here and there... it was a graphologist's paradise. Duo wondered what it all meant, perhaps it indicated some sort of inner turmoil? Whatever it was, looking at it raised goosebumps on his skin. There were secrets to be uncovered.

Most of the writing in the planner regarded various appointments. As he ran through nearly the entire planner, Duo noticed a strange thing. At the bottom of almost every page, Heero had written a bold title: **_DON'T FORGET!_ ** Under it he had scribbled down all sort of seemingly useless stuff such as:

_Friday: Club America – Toluca 3-2_

_Told Marissa about next Tuesday. Agreed to make up for it Sunday._

_IMPORTANT! Promised KPL Technologies a 3% discount_

_Spoke to Jerry about Mark. Said he'll look into it & keep me apprised. _

_Club America – Toluca semifinals. Promised Adriel we’ll watch together: 09.03.207_

_Cancelled Grabelsky._ **_No rescheduling!_ **

_XBMC Inc. said they'll sign the deal. Already confirmed with Carlos TWICE!_

_Puebla F.C – Club America 5-4. Owe Jerry a damn soda!_

Duo had to laugh at the last one. "A soda? Da fuck? Usually you owe someone a beer, yanno..."

The memos went on and on. It seemed as though Heero had listed almost every little thing he had said, seen or done. It was strange, because usually people wrote down things they had to do in the future, and not things they had already done.

_Looks like he OCDed all over his planner,_ Duo thought with a smirk. _Good ta know I ain't the only one who's fucked-up like shit._

Somewhat encouraged by the realization, Duo closed the planner. He found the AC's remote control next to the keyboard, and turned the unit on. The AC came to life with a low _'beep'_ and cool air began rushing out of the unit, chasing the heat away. Feeling nice and cool, Duo went back to the sofa. He lay down on his back and stared at the ceiling, taking pleasure in the serenity of the moment. The apartment was very silent. The silence sounded strange in Duo's ears... eerie. He wasn't used to it. Prison was always so noisy, constantly full of murmuring and clattering, even in the wee hours of the night. Duo supposed that he would have to get used to the silence again. He would have to become accustomed to many other seemingly ordinary things, such as privacy and common human courtesy.

Even though the AC was working, he was still so damn hot! There was an irksome feeling prickling under his skin, something deeper and more bothersome than sweat. The heat he felt wasn't due to the damn Earth's summer blazing outside. It was a heat that burnt inside, an urge that ached to be satisfied. It was a burning desire he was most familiar with; a demon that lived inside of him, begging to be unleashed. After Ali died, he had begged the prison priest to exorcise this demon out of him, but no amount of praying could pacify it. Sex was all he could think about. Thoughts of carnal lust were burying him alive. He couldn't control it, stop it, or bring himself to put enough effort into reducing his need for it. He would get stressful, restless and most of the time violent if he couldn't get some. He tried to keep his mind occupied with words of God instead of blasphemous thoughts of sex, but even then he had slipped. Luckily, that sort of thing was common in prison. At least there, he could let the demon out once in a while. Now he was fighting to keep that devil bottled up inside him... and that was hard. If he could only just—

No!

He mustn't.

He wanted to, so much...

But he mustn't.

He wasn't in prison anymore. He mustn't repeat what he had done to Ali. He couldn't just crawl into another man's bed and force himself onto him! But Heero's closed bedroom door was beckoning him... teasing him. A closed door was an invitation, a temptation he found so hard to resist. Heero always shut him out and it never stopped him from coming closer before; quite the contrary, it was a welcomed challenge. There wasn't anywhere he couldn't break into, and that included the _Perfect Soldier's_ heart. Of course, unlike with Ali, his intentions towards Heero had always been pure. He hadn't broken inside Heero's walls with the intent to steal his heart or anything as remotely dramatic. All he sought was companionship during wartime, someone he could depend on when push came to shove. His needs were strictly platonic and he eventually found that they corresponded with Heero's needs for human compassion. They were both lost, troubled, and alone; all they had was each other, no matter how much Heero tried to deny it.

Duo always suspected that Heero's shunning him was all an act meant to keep up the pretense of _"The Perfect Soldier"_ bullshit. It was a shield Heero raised against his own humanity. Why else would Heero had let his walls down and succumbed to Duo's persistent attempt to form a friendship? Deep down Heero wanted to be approached. Deep down, he probably wanted the same thing Duo did: to be touched, to be accepted as he was by another human being. It was a basic need of socialization, pure and innocent. Yet now... now Duo's need was tainted, twisted and soiled beyond disgrace. That closed bedroom door was calling unto him and he felt its cry echo in regions of his psyche that weren't meant for friendship. They were dark, stormy seas raging with wants he fought to suppress since Ali's untimely death.

"Ah, dammit!" Duo grunted, and turned over to lie on his side, curling on the squeaky leather sofa so that his back was facing the room, so he wouldn't have to look in the direction of that room. He closed his eyes, but all he could see was Ali's fierce honey-brown eyes glaring back at him with a familiar passion he often saw in Heero's eyes. Ali's intensely silent demeanor had often reminded him of Heero. He simply had to make the boy _his_. He had even marked him as his own, cutting and scarring him where only he was allowed to reach, just like he had done to Quatre's—

"FUCK!" Duo called out, jerking off the sofa. He wasn't going to think about _any_ of that anymore! He was going out of his mind when Heero wasn't around. He decided to take a small peek into the room, that's all. Just an innocent look. He'll just check if Heero was asleep or not and that would be it. It would put his mind at ease if he could only see Heero... Just a look. That's it.

Barefoot and clad only in a pair of jeans and a cross pendant dangling over his chest, Duo padded softly on the hardwood floor, walking down the corridor towards Heero's bedroom. It was the only other room aside from the bathroom. He knocked gently on the door, but received no reply.

"Heero?" he whispered and carefully tried to open the door.

It was locked.

_"Da fuck?_ " he wondered, offended. Was Heero so wary of him that he actually _locked_ the door while he was asleep? That was psychotic. Completely paranoid! And it pissed Duo off!

He grabbed the doorknob tightly, leaned forcefully but quietly against the wooden door and twisted the doorknob _hard._ The lock gave a little struggle and finally opened with a silent _'click'_ . Satisfied, Duo opened the door to peek inside the room. Heero was a fool to believe that a simple doorknob-lock could keep him out of a room. Really, it wasn't like the man to be so naïve. A locked door was an even _bigger_ invitation. Heero should have known better.

Looking inside, Duo ran his gaze over the room, wondering what Heero was trying to hide from him by locking the door. There was a large window opposite of the door; it was covered with blinds similar to the ones in living room. The shutters were closed, allowing only thin strips of sunlight to fall on the hardwood floor and onto the bed. A ceiling fan was hanging above the bed, working to circulate the air within the room. The bedroom itself wasn't large and, like everything else in the apartment, it was modestly and aesthetically decorated.

Duo spotted a nightstand by the bed; there was an orange pill container on it, along with an empty glass of water. Heero was lying in the center of the bed, deep asleep. Chowder was lying next to him. The young man's arm was draped around its neck, hugging the animal as it rested its head on his chest.

Chowder opened its eyes and lifted its head off Heero's chest, looking up at Duo with a pair of wary brown eyes. It was as though the damn beast was making sure that Duo won't step into the room and violate Heero's sanctuary. He ignored the stupid dog and turned his gaze back at Heero.

The young man had slipped out of his day clothes and remained dressed only in a white tank-top undershirt and a pair of white boxer-briefs. The thin white fabric clung to his moist skin, emphasizing the young man's flimsy figure. Strips of afternoon sunlight fell over his still body, drawing Duo's eyes to every curve of flesh. He stood at the door and allowed himself to appreciate the sight silently.

His eyes lingered to the slow and steady movement of Heero's chest. He allowed his gaze to travel down, across Heero's flat abdomen. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he dared allow his eyes to travel further down. He stopped to stare at the bulge evident under Heero's white boxer-briefs and his mouth went dry. Slowly, his gaze moved down Heero's slightly hairy thighs, to his firm legs and finally stopped to stare at a long, thick white scar running across the side of his left leg. Was this why he carried a limp?

He thought he saw something in the corner of his eyes. Something was floating leisurely across the room... something small and silvery was drifting in the room as though there was no gravity. As soon as he tried to focus his gaze on it, it was gone, twinkling out of existence. Duo blinked to get his vision straight. His gaze shifted back to look at Heero, asleep on the bed. Once again he drank the sight of the man's partially dressed body, until he caught himself and jerked back.

_Da fuck am I doin'?!_ He quickly looked away, taking a staggering step back. _I must be goin' outta my fucking mind. I need to get laid and fast, before I lose it completely._

Chowder was glaring at him now, protective of its owner. Keeping eye contact with the damn dog, Duo retreated and closed the door behind him silently. He decided it was time to take a _really_ cold shower...

After both showering and relieving himself of pent-up sexual pressure, Duo felt much better. Whistling, he toweled himself dry and slipped into the only other outfit he had: a black cotton tank top and baggy men shorts. His shoulder-length hair dripped water onto his bare shoulders as he exited the bathroom. Walking down the hall he heard soft scraping coming from Heero's bedroom. By the sound of it, Chowder was scratching its paws against the wooden door, asking to come out.

Carefully, Duo opened the door and allowed the dog to exit the room. The large Golden Retriever quickly rushed past him, wagging its tail as it made its way towards the kitchen. Duo briefly peeked into the bedroom, noting that Heero was still deep asleep; he had rolled onto his side, facing the window. Duo tried not to gape at the young man's delicious ass and shut the door quietly.

Leaving the AC on, Duo settled on the leather sofa, lying on his back. He rested a hand over his chest, playing with the cross pendant as he stared at the ceiling, emptying his mind of troublesome thoughts.

By the time Chowder padded softly into the living room, Duo had already fallen asleep. His head lolled to the side, but his hand still protectively covered his cross as he sunk into a deep slumber.

The large dog settled on the carpet at the foot of the sofa, lying down with its head tucked between its front legs. It continued lying there, guarding its owner by keeping an eye on Duo as the sun set outside the living room window.

*             *             *

Hours later, Duo was awakened by the sound of clattering coming from the kitchen. Groggily, he moaned in protest of the noise. Something metallic clanked against something ceramic and Duo's eyes snapped wide open. With a short gasp, he sat up, ready to fight for whatever reason his current cellmate wished to wrestle for.

It only took him a second to realize that he was not waking up in his cell, but rather on a stiff leather sofa in Heero's apartment. The apartment was dark, aside from the harsh fluorescent light emitting from the kitchen. The air conditioning had been turned off and judging by the heavy silence, it was either very late at night or very early in the morning.

Running a hand through his messy shoulder-length hair, Duo looked up. He saw Heero standing in the kitchen, making himself a cup of coffee. The young man was dressed in simple black tracksuit pants and a white T-shirt that hung baggily from his slim shoulders. He wasn't wearing his eyeglasses and for a moment Duo was surprised to see a trace of the person he had once known, a hint of "Wartime Heero"... _his_ Heero. For a while, all he could do was ogle at the young man standing in the kitchen, appreciating the welcomed sight of his long lost friend. He hoped Heero would continue walking around without his eyeglasses. He looked so much better that way; he looked like himself again.

Chowder barked, signaling Duo's awakening. The dog was standing next to Heero, looking up at its owner, happily wagging its tail as if it too was expecting a cup of coffee.

"Wha' time's it?" Duo yawned the question, stretching.

"Half past four," Heero replied quietly, sipping his coffee.

Duo stopped in mid-stretch, his arms high above his head. "Da fuck!"

"Go back to sleep," the other man said calmly and took another sip from his beverage.

"Nah, it's cool," Duo shrugged helplessly, "I'm up."

After one more good stretch (the sofa was killing his back), Duo got up. He walked to the kitchen bar and took a seat on one of the bar chairs facing the kitchen. Heero placed his cup of coffee on the kitchen top and went into the laundry room to pour food into Chowder's bowl.

"Why up so early?" Duo called after him, "You haffta go to work?"

"I've had enough sleep," Heero explained as he walked back into the kitchen, almost tripping over Chowder as the dog ran to have its breakfast. Apparently, Heero failed to see Chowder coming. He lost his balance and had to quickly reach to grab the worktop to keep from falling. Duo found it odd that Heero failed to see the large dog, who was practically under his nose. Maybe he didn't see the damn canine because he had no eyeglasses on?

With a silent sigh, Heero stabilized himself. He reached for his cup of coffee again. There was also a piece of toast smeared with jam resting on a plate next to the electric kettle. Heero took a small bite of toast and then gestured with it towards Duo, wordlessly asking if he wanted some.

"Nah, thanks," Duo shook his head, "Can't stomach anything this early." Prison routine and diet had forced his stomach to grow accustomed to digesting on a very strict schedule which was set in stone – a major hindrance on those distant nights he had once spent getting high and suffering from a terrible case of the munchies.

Heero nodded and resumed eating his plain breakfast. Duo continued to sit by the kitchen bar and simply gaze at Heero. Dressed in baggy tracksuit pants and a T-shirt, the young man seemed even frailer than he had before. His pale complexion and stubble-covered face only added to his unkempt appearance.

Heero took one last sip before placing the coffee mug back down and then walked out of the kitchen. He limped slightly as he walked to the door, and Duo turned in his chair so he could still face him. He noted that Heero was wearing a pair of battered sneakers.

"Goin' someplace?" His voice felt awfully loud in the pre-dawn silence engulfing the dark apartment.

Heero didn't bother answering the obvious. He reached for a dog leash hanging on a wall hanger by the door. The moment Chowder heard the leash being lifted, it rushed out of the laundry room towards the door, barking and wagging its tail excitedly.

"Oh, you're taking Chowder out for a walk?" Duo let out another rhetorical question as he watched Heero kneel in front of the dog and secure the leash to its collar. Chowder barked, looking anxiously at the door.

"Mind if I join you?"

Heero turned to unlock the door. He hadn't said _'no'_ , so Duo took it for a _'yes'_ . Smiling, he jumped off the bar chair and hurried towards the sofa, where he had left his boots. He put them on swiftly, wearing yesterday's stinky socks. He was still dressed in a black tank top along with baggy shorts, which made the boots seem very out of place. Combined with his tattoo and the large silver cross dangling over his shirt, Duo imagined that he looked like some damn _wangster_. Of course, he couldn't care less about how he looked. He hurried to join Heero at the door.

"Ready for my walk!" he declared.

"So baka," Heero muttered in response to Duo's joke and opened the door.

Duo grinned, pleased. During the war, Heero had often called him that when he wasn't pleased with something he had said or done. Assuming that the word was in Japanese, he had looked it up in the dictionary and found that _"baka"_ meant _"fool"_ , AKA _idiot_ . Even though it wasn't a _real_ term of affection, it still was a word Heero had designated solely for him and Duo took pride in the fact that Heero chose to nickname him in his mother tongue. It made it more special somehow. He would gladly act the fool for Heero anytime. Anything to loosen up the tight restraint around the young man's heart.

He hurried to follow Heero outside. Chowder already went ahead the moment the door opened. It anxiously pulled Heero with it towards the elevator, as if hurrying to get its owner away from Duo.

*             *             *

The sun hadn't risen yet, although it signaled its approach by painting the skies with soft pre-dawn shades of pink and blue. The air was cool and very humid. Moisture covered cars with a layer of morning dew. A solid, heavy, silence filled the empty streets as the city of Philadelphia began rising from its nightly slumber.

Duo and Heero walked down the narrow side-street in which Heero lived, heading towards the main road. It was a modern urban neighborhood, filled with low-rise apartment buildings, offices, cafés, restaurants, shops and community spaces. The two walked side by side as Chowder led the way, sniffing everything in its path. Heero was walking at an almost snail's pace, perhaps due to his light limp, and Duo found himself having to slow down every now and then to even his pace with Heero's. Chowder had no such problem: held by a very long leash, the dog was way ahead of the two, looking about excitedly.

Shoving both hands into his short's pockets, Duo tried to enjoy the silence for a change. Such serene moments had been rare in his life. In the past he had even resented those inactive moments, but now he found them very soothing. He took his time looking around at where rows of high-rise apartment buildings towered in the distance. All around them, the city gradually came to life as the traffic began picking up and a few shop-owners opened their shop in order to receive merchandize from trucks parked in the back.

Duo regretted forgetting his cigarettes back in Heero's place. It'd been too long since he had last had a smoke. It was unlike him to remain so calm without one. Usually, he would become very irritable and moody if he hadn't smoked in over an hour (sometimes less). He wondered if the sudden patience was a result of being next to Heero. He felt very at ease while walking next to the other man. For the first time in years he could honestly say that he felt some peace of mind. A smoke would have made the moment perfect, but he wasn't as anxious to smoke as he usually was. That was enough proof that being next to Heero made him better.

Heero was very quiet. He kept his gaze on the ground as he walked, holding Chowder's leash. Duo assumed that Heero wasn't as fascinated by normalcy as he was; after all, he hadn't lacked it for the past ten years. In fact, Heero seemed to have settled into normalcy quite well. Perhaps he even took comfort in living an ordinary life. He probably found mundane life no less of a challenge than his past as a Gundam pilot. At least, that's what Duo had been told about how he should view his own life. Not once did his priest tell him that if he would only treat everyday life as an adventure, he wouldn't get into so much trouble. Maybe Heero had figured it out all on his own. He was always so much better at doing things _just_ _right_.

Looking up at the man walking silently by his side, Duo couldn't help but smile to himself. He was actually feeling proud of Heero for managing to pull through the war as a normal and stable person. He was a bit envious too, but that just meant that he had someone to learn from, someone to look up to. He had always idolized Heero in one way or another. _All the more reason to stick around the guy_ , he figured. If only he could convince Heero that he was someone worth keeping around... He hadn't done anything noteworthy in his post-war life, but maybe sticking by Heero's side would help him find a reason to keep going.

He studied the man's profile, allowing his eyes to absorb every little detail of Heero's face: from the messy mop of chocolate-brown bangs falling casually over his forehead, down to his deep Prussian blue eyes accented by fine eyelashes moving up and down as he blinked, to his perfectly carved nose and stubble-covered chin; finally, he stopped to gaze at the young man's pale lips, pressed together tightly in a bleak expression typical of Heero. Now that the man chose not to wear his eyeglasses, Duo could finally see the friend he had been searching for.

He decided to break the heavy silence and get a conversation going:

"So – why Philly?" he asked. He always started a conversation with Heero as though it was already in progress. He had learned a long time ago that it was the best way to get a reaction out of Heero, for it usually piqued his curiosity.

The young man lifted his head up turned to look at Duo, puzzled. "What?" he asked snappily and Duo rolled his eyes. He would have thought that Heero would get used to it by now. Then again, it _has_ been a while.

"I mean, why'dja choose to live here, outta all places?"

Heero stared at him for a moment longer before he turned to fix his gaze far ahead on where Chowder was sniffing a fire hydrant.

"I just did," he muttered reluctantly.

"I woulda figured you'd go back up to L1 or sumthin'."

Heero frowned at him. "Why would you assume that?"

"Gee, _I dunno_ ," Duo rolled his eyes; "Maybe cuz you're _from_ there?"

"I never told you that," Heero argued and Duo frowned, stumped.

"You didn't? Well, uh, maybe I figured you're from there cuz you're part _Japanese_? I mean, them people on L1 are mostly Yanks and Nips, so it'd make sense."

" _Yanks_ and _Nips_?" Heero quirked an eyebrow at him and Duo chuckled sheepishly.

"Yanno... Americans and Japs. Japanese people. Nips. Don't they have a name for 'em on L1?"

Irate, Heero turned to face the other way, ignoring Duo's sly smile. "People," he grunted. "They're called _people_."

Duo laughed. "Yeah, sure, okay. But I'm right about you being one of 'em, right?"

Still looking ahead, Heero heaved an exasperated sigh. "You can't possibly assume all that based solely on my appearance," he said.

"Sure I can!" Duo claimed, grinning. "I mean, I'm not _blind_ ... or _deaf_ . You don't talk like a real Nip and you sure as Hell don't look like it... it's pretty obvious you're a half-breed, so it don't take no _genius_ to figure out you're from L1.  Me for example, I got L2-trash written allova me. Hell, I can't open ma damn mouth without lettin' it show I got some L2- _Dixie-blood_ in me," he joked, deliberately emphasizing his usually light Southern American accent.

"A _half-breed?_ " Heero repeated Duo's careless remark about his origin. "I am not some _mutt,_ " he grumbled harshly.

"Okay, okay, _sorry!_ " Duo raised his hands up in the air. "I didn't know how else to say it, okay? Like I said: nothing but some _dumb_ L2-trash over here. Fuck me if I know how I picked up this damn _hillbilly_ accent, but somehow it just stuck," he concluded with a carefree shrug of his shoulders.

"It stuck because you insisted on hanging with the wrong crowds," Heero rebuked. Duo gaped at him for a moment, surprised by his insight, and then shrugged.

"I guess I did," he muttered; "Anyways, I didn't mean to make you sound like some _mongrel_ ," he emphasized the word just to spite.

Heero sighed and turned to look ahead at the pavement. They continued walking silently for a while.

"So was I right?" Duo asked after a few more steps.

Heero seemed annoyed. He didn't turn to face him as he asked: "About what?"

"About you going back home to L1."

"I had no home to return to," Heero stated quietly and Duo noted that his grip around Chowder's leash had tightened considerably.

"Yeah, I know what you mean," he sighed. "But then, why the US? Why not Japan or sumthin'? You feel more of a Yankee than a Ni–-uh, Jap?"

"I feel like neither," Heero muttered with an exasperated sigh and ran a hand through his hair to push his long bangs up, as though uncomfortable. That was new. Duo had never seen Heero make a nervous gesture before.

"Fair 'nough," he mumbled, frowning deeply. Who _was_ this man he was speaking to?

The two were silent for a while before Duo decided to pick the conversation up again:

"So what's the deal with changing your name? There ain't no big difference between spelling it with an 'I' or an 'E', if ya ask me."

"I think there is," Heero replied quietly.

"Oh yeah? How's that?"

Heero focused his gaze ahead and refrained from giving a reply. Duo sighed and the two continued walking silently. Soon, the silence became awkward and Duo decided to break it with a smile.

"I saw your home office," he remarked casually, "You work from home?"

Heero continued watching Chowder, which was still walking ahead of the two. "Not bad for some _dumb L2-trash_ ," Heero taunted dryly.

Duo was pleased with the friendly bickering. "Ouch," he let out with a wide smile; "I guess I had that one coming. This is just like old times, ain't it?"

Heero didn't grace him with an answer. In fact, Duo noted that the young man seemed even more uneasy. Instead of facing Duo, Heero turned his gaze away to look at Chowder, silently distancing himself from the friendly conversation. He watched his pet settle down by a tree in a patch of ground to do his business. The two young men stopped and waited for it to finish. Duo was anxious to get Heero to open up some more. The ice was finally breaking and it was important to hit the iron while it was hot. Fire and ice; the two idioms worked perfectly when referring to someone as ambiguous as Heero.

"So I gather that you're not the nine to five kinda guy, huh?" Duo resumed talking.

"I make my own hours," Heero replied quietly. His gaze was still fixed on Chowder.

"Lemme guess," Duo gave him a knowing smile, "You work with computers, right?"

"I'm a freelance system analyst. I consult various high-tech companies."

"Oh, like a debugger, right? You fix their shit 'n stuff."

"That's one way of phrasing it."

"Bet it pays a _shitload_ of money, huh?"

"I've managed to build myself quite a reputation, so I can't complain."

"Shit, man. Your life's like a freaking jar of honey, ain't it? I gotta say I'm a bit jealous."

Heero didn't offer a verbal reply; he merely turned to stare at him. Something in his bottomless blue eyes suggested that he wanted to voice his objection to the statement, but refrained from doing so. Instead, he heaved a tired sigh and turned to look the other way at where Chowder was just rising back on all fours.

The dog continued walking onwards. Jadedly, Heero followed it. Duo got the feeling that Heero has had enough of both walking and talking. The atmosphere around the young man seemed to have become sullen, but Duo couldn't quite point his finger on what changed exactly. There was a solemn expression on the young man's face and his frame seemed to have shrunken a bit, appearing smaller, older, somehow. He continued to walk alongside Heero, wondering why the other ex-pilot looked so exhausted after a mere twenty minute walk.

"What I meant is that I wish I was good with that sorta stuff," he offered an explanation to his last comment regarding Heero's profession, fearing that he might have insulted the man.

"I mean, life ain't easy for no one, right? And I'm more of a grease-monkey myself. The only thing I'm good at is with my hands, and that ain't gonna get me far. Not like that computer shit. I just don't have the butt for it, yanno? I can't sit in front of a computer monitor all day, yanno what I mean?"

Heero nodded in understanding. "You should try applying for a more technical job, like an auto repair shop," he suggested quietly, "I'm sure you'd be able to put your skills into good use. Anyone would be pleased to hire someone with your experience and expertise."

"Work in a _garage?_ " Duo took a moment to give it some actual thought. Any occupation he could get would be welcomed at this point. His parole officer would certainly be pleased.

"You did something similar once, haven't you?"

Duo frowned. "Uh, yeah. Did I tell you about that?" He couldn't recall telling Heero about the time he had worked in a scrapyard on L2, laying low while scavenging OZ mobile suit parts in deep space so he could trade them for parts he could use to fix his Gundam. He must have blabbered about it to Heero at some point later on, because there was no other way Heero could know about his return to L2 during the war.

"So you have the expertise," Heero surmised simply.

"Yeah, I guess that's one way to go," Duo mumbled, still unsure about the offer; "I mean, if anyone would be willing to hire an ex-c—Gundam pilot."

"It's a free country. You don't have to tell anyone who you were," Heero turned to him and stated; his gaze was fierce, like he already knew that Duo was hiding something from him. "People come here for a second chance."

"Well then, _God bless America_ ," Duo muttered sarcastically. "The land of _freaking_ _opportunity_!" he snorted. "Now I get it."

For a few good minutes, the two walked in silence, brooding. Heero gazed ahead thoughtfully as he walked, watching Chowder, who was a few feet away from them.

"I know someone who might be interested in your skills," he said after a while, surprising Duo. "My mechanic runs a shop not far from here. I gave him a discount when I programmed a database for his business, so he owes me a favor. I could ask if he's hiring."

"Really? You'd do that? For me? Fuck, that's unreal."

"I can't make any promises that he'd hire you, but I'm willing to vouch for you if necessary."

Oh boy, would his parole officer _hit the freaking roof!_ Duo smiled widely, his cobalt eyes sparkling with gratitude and admiration towards his only friend. It had been a long time since he had _really_ smiled at anyone, but if anyone deserved earning an honest smile out of him, surely it was Heero.

"Yanno man, that's the _nicest_ thing anyone has _ever_ done for me. Honestly, I dunno what to say."

"If it would help you get back on your feet, then the sooner the better," Heero muttered, looking away humbly. His sudden sheepishness earned him a goodhearted laugh from Duo.

"Oh, you're just making excuses for being nice!" he teased, "You're the best, you fucking know that? Thanks, man," Duo added with a more serious expression, "I really appreciate it. You have no idea how much this means to me. Really." He felt like he was sucking up, but he simply couldn't help himself. He needed Heero to know how much he mattered to him.

Heero nodded in acknowledgment of the praise, turning to look the other way. Duo smiled widely at his friend; he had missed Heero's modesty, his noble grace. He was about to say something more when suddenly Heero stumbled forward after bumping into a small fire hydrant. He lost his balance and nearly fell, flinging one arm up in the air to stabilize himself.

"Christ! Heero! Watch it will ya!" Duo exclaimed in alarm. He turned to Heero, looking him up and down to make sure that he was alright. Heero hissed in pain, clutching his left leg (the scarred one with the limp) and rubbing it to ease the throbbing ache.

" _Da Hell_ didn't ya see _that_ one comin'?"

"I just didn't," Heero muttered and reached to rub the bridge of his nose, grimacing painfully.

"You okay, man?" Duo asked and reached a hand towards the young man.

"Stop fretting," Heero demanded irritably and pushed Duo's hand away before he could even touch him. Concerned, Duo took a step back. Heero clearly didn't want to be touched.

"Maybe you shoulda taken your eyeglasses with ya," he suggested instead. It seemed that Heero really needed them to get around. He wondered why had chosen not to wear them this morning.

Heero turned his head left and right, looking around. "Where's Chowder?" he asked; there was a hint of worry in his voice. Only then did Duo realize that Heero was no longer holding Chowder's leash; he must have lost his grip on the leash when he had collided with the fire hydrant. The dog ran off and was nowhere to be seen.

"Shit," Duo cussed; "It ran away. The damn _mutt."_

Heero suddenly whirled around swiftly, his expression shocked as though something had just hit him, hard. He wobbled from side to side, about to fall. Duo hurried to grab him by his shoulders and stabilize him, just as his knees buckled and gave way.

"Shit, Heero, what da Hell!" He called anxiously and guided the young man to a nearby city bench. He helped Heero sit down. "Da fuck's wrong with you?"

"I... I got dizzy..." Heero mumbled feebly as he leaned forward, bowed his head and rubbed his face tiredly. Hunched forward, he covered his face with his hands and closed his eyes, groaning quietly. He was in pain. Duo stood next to him, watching anxiously.

"We should get back," he suggested quietly. "I think you should lie down or sumthin'."

"I have to find Chowder," Heero insisted and was already preparing to get up again.

"Forget it man," Duo insisted and pushed Heero back down. "You stay put. I'll go look for your damn dog."

Doubtful, Heero looked at Duo for a short moment, before he nodded his agreement. He held his head again and closed his eyes as another dizzy spell seemed to assault him. Duo noted that Heero had turned very pale. He was reluctant to leave him in his suddenly weakened state, but since he could see how alarmed Heero was by Chowder's disappearance, he hurried to go after the damn dog.

After running down the main street for a few good minutes, he spotted the large canine in an alleyway behind a small butcher shop. Chowder was sniffing a dumpster.

"Stupid dog..." Duo muttered as he marched into the alley. He grabbed the dog by its leash, pulling it forcefully towards him. Chowder barked and pulled back, resisting Duo's attempt to drag it away.

Duo cussed loudly. He _hated_ dogs.

"Just come over here already!" he called angrily, pulling at the leash with all his might. Growling dangerously, Chowder tried to resist being dragged away. It gave Duo quite a struggle, thrashing about violently. By the time Duo managed to get the dog to cooperate, the sun had risen above the buildings and he was sweating badly, which only annoyed him even further. Finally, after a long struggle, Duo managed to get the dog to follow him. He made his way back to the bench where he had left Heero, a couple of blocks away.

As Duo approached the bench, Chowder began barking loudly. It ran towards its owner, using the entire length of the leash to run ahead of Duo. Tired, Duo lagged behind. Chowder was already by the bench, howling. At first Duo assumed that the damn _beast_ was simply pleased to see its owner again, but as he neared the bench, he was shocked to see the reason for Chowder's sudden eagerness and distress: Heero had collapsed on the bench, tilting sideways in unconsciousness.

"Shit!" Duo exclaimed, running towards the bench.

Dropping to his knees in front of it, he hurried to assess the man's condition: Heero was lying on his side after he falling limply down in unconsciousness. Long bangs fell over his face, obscuring his closed eyes. One of his arms was sprawled before him and the other one dangled motionlessly off the bench. Alarmed, Duo reached for Heero's lifeless hand and shook it gently.

"Heero, hey, Heero, wake up," he pleaded urgently, "C'mon man, snap out of it."

Chowder barked anxiously. The large dog was sitting by the bench, looking at its unconscious owner with shimmering brown eyes. As Duo shook Heero harder, the dog began wailing sadly.

"Hey, buddy, c'mon..." Duo repeated over and over again as he rocked Heero, "Open your eyes, c'mon..."

Letting out a low moan, Heero stirred. Encouraged, Duo shook him a bit harder.

"That's it, c'mon, open your eyes. C'mon man, c'mon..."

Groggily, Heero opened his eyes, hardly managing to lift his eyelids to reveal a thin slit of blue. He gazed at Duo numbly from behind half-lidded eyes, before his eyelids fluttered shut again. He went limp, falling back into an unconscious state.

"No, no!" Duo shook Heero even harder. "C'mon, wake up! _Da fuck's_ wrong with you? Wake up! Shit!"

Duo's heart began beating painfully, throbbing with a sense of forbiddance. Something was _very_ wrong with Heero. Helplessly, he looked left and right, searching for aid. It was still very early in the morning and the street was empty. Only a few cars drove past him before speeding away. He wondered if he should call an ambulance. What if someone thought he'd done this to Heero? No, he couldn't risk it.

"Shit," he cussed and turned back to Heero. "C'mon buddy, wake up!"

Chowder wept sadly, tucking its head between its paws. Letting out a sluggish moan, Heero opened his eyes again slowly, managing to lift his heavy eyelids only halfway.

"Heero?" Duo whispered hopefully and leaned closer to his friend; he was still kneeling in front of the bench. He looked closely into the man's barely open eyes.

"Heero, you with me?"

For a long while, the Prussian blue orbs didn't seem to register anything, until they suddenly blinked and lit up with recognition. Gasping, Heero opened his eyes fully and sat up, jerking off the bench.

"Chowder," he breathed his pet's name. He looked around, squinting as though it was hard to see; he was searching for his dog. Only when Heero turned his head to look down directly at the dog, did his features relax with relief. He reached out a hand towards the large Golden Retriever. Chowder stood up and approached its owner. Heero petted its head, finally calming when he ran his hand through the dog's rich fur.

Duo allowed him a moment to bond with the dog and stood up silently. He looked down at the man sitting on the bench, studying him carefully. He stared hard at Heero's hand as he petted the top of Chowder's head, and felt as though he was about to suffocate. Heero's hand seemed so brittle. His long fingers were bony and pale; they trembled with weakness. Looking up at Heero's face, taking in his gaunt and unshaven features, the dark bags under his eyes and the grey-paleness of his skin, Duo's heart twitched with fear and agony. He couldn't lose Heero to some illness. Heero had to save him first. He simply had to!

"Heero, you alright?" he asked with concern, "You need me to call a doctor or sumthin'?"

Still petting Chowder, Heero shook his head. "No," he said quietly, "I'm fine."

"Heero, you _fainted_."

"I'm fine," Heero repeated firmly and turned to look up at Duo; his fierce blue eyes suggested that Duo shouldn't argue with him. "The heat got to me," he gave a poor excuse, which earned him a glare from Duo.

"Don't _bullshit_ me, okay? The sun is barely up yet and it ain't _that_ hot. Now what da Hell's wrong with you?"

"What's it to you?" Heero retorted, returning Duo's glare with a severe gaze of his own. He still hadn't risen from the bench, and from a low angle the glare seemed more childish than threatening.

" _Da fuck_ do you mean? I'm worried sick here!"

"I didn't ask for your concern," Heero grunted. Carefully, he stood up, leaning heavily on the bench for support. Once he steadied himself, he took Chowder's leash and prepared to head back the way they came.

"Quit pushing me away," Duo called after him, "We moved past that a long time ago, remember? You don't push away your only friend!"

"I don't owe you any explanations," Heero muttered as he walked away, limping slightly, "And you are not, by any means, my _friend_."

"Say _what!_ " Duo let out, stunned at Heero's blunt statement. A few moments ago they were talking like best buds and now he was saying that they weren't friends?

"So what are we – exactly?" he called after Heero and hurried to catch up with him. "What _do_ you call the guy who stuck with you through all sorta _shit?_ "

Heero didn't offer an answer; he simply continued walking away in silence. But Duo wasn't about to let him off the hook so easily.

"If we ain't friends, then why didja agree to help me? Why didja say you'll help me find a job? Why didja lemme into your _home_ , huh? Why? Are ya gonna take it back now? Are ya gonna kick me out?"

Heero sighed wearily. "I'm not going to do that Duo;" he muttered; "I've already given you my word that you may stay for a week."

"And now you're regretting it?"

Heero stared at him quietly. After a lengthy pause, he sighed. "You may stay, but that doesn't mean I consider you my friend."

"Da fuck not?"

Heero turned to pin Duo down with a harsh gaze. "Because you can never be a friend to me, Duo."

Slack-jawed, Duo stared at Heero. He was speechless. The short but resentful accusation left him feeling completely numb. He simply didn't know how to react.

Heero resumed walking onwards. Dazedly, Duo followed, keeping one step behind Heero. He couldn't think of anything to say and Heero refused to even look at him. The two young men walked in silence until they reached Heero's apartment building. Duo felt too guilty— no, fuck that, he was furious by the accusation! – to follow Heero inside. He stopped at the building's entrance.

The young man continued walking a few more steps ahead before realizing Duo had stopped. He turned to face him, looking at him impatiently.

"Are you coming in?" he asked in a calm but stern voice.

Duo couldn't even bring himself to look into Heero's eyes. He stared at the floor.

"I think I could use a bit more fresh air," he mumbled an excuse.

"I'm not kicking you out," Heero grunted irately; "My offer still stands."

"I know," Duo sighed; "I just, uh... need a minute, if that's okay."

"Suit yourself," Heero muttered and limped into the lobby, heading for the elevator. Chowder followed him eagerly, turning its head around to look at Duo with somewhat pretentious eyes, as if taunting him somehow.

Standing at the bottom of the stairs, Duo glared menacingly at the dog, cussing it for staying next to Heero while he remained on the street like some... well, like a damn stranded mutt!

He stood still for a moment more, debating whether or not he had it in him to go after Heero nevertheless. He was dying for a smoke, but he couldn't bear being next to Heero at the moment; he was too miserable, too proud and too stubborn to step into Heero's apartment just to fetch his smokes.

Sighing resignedly, Duo shoved his hands into his pockets and finally turned away from the building. He headed down the street, staring broodingly at the pavement as he walked.

Smokes or no smokes, the truth was that he didn't want to follow Heero because the man's words _hurt_. He had just been accused of never being able to be a friend to Heero. The harsh words flooded him with a sense of terrible guilt and he didn't even know why. He was aware of the fact that walking out at the end of the war was the wrong and inconsiderate thing to do, but concluding that he was some sort of monster incapable of offering friendship altogether – that was harsh!

Yesterday, when he came to meet Heero, he had been expecting an old grudge, but he hadn't expected the bitterness and resentment he had just encountered. He supposed that Heero's feelings of betrayal ran much deeper than his mere offense at being left behind; otherwise, he wouldn't have made such an extensive and far-reaching accusation, right?

But what was it then? What was Heero resenting so damn much? What had he done so wrong to deserve those harsh words? What had he done to make Heero think that he was some sort of selfish bastard with no regard to anyone but himself? It certainly hadn't been the impression he had been trying to give Heero during the war. He would have liked to think that he acted like a pretty decent guy back then; probably the nicest he'd ever been to anyone. He didn't deserve such an accusation. Why in God's name would Heero say such a thing!

*             *             *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:**
> 
> I know that this story is more slow-paced than my previous work, but I promise you that the plot gets more intense as it simmers to a boil. I never go easy on my two favorite fictional characters...  
> Also, you can rest assured that Duo's OOC behavior is deliberate and is basically the heart of this story. I know it's hard to like him right now, but bear with me please. I promise all will be revealed.  
> I would love to hear your thoughts on this so far.
> 
> Thank you,
> 
> Elle


	5. Chapter 03: Squirt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's Note:**  
>  Is Duo utterly insane? Hell yes! Am I going to butcher his character completely? Fuck no. Rest assured that both you, as a reader, and Heero and Duo, as the lead characters, are in good hands. Without giving away any spoilers, I assure you that Duo won't stay this way forever. Please give this story a chance...  
> Elle

**One Week**

**Part 5/20**

**Chapter 03: Squirt**

 

Duo roamed the streets for over an hour, walking around aimlessly. He didn't pay attention to his surroundings as he circled the same group of blocks over and over again. He was famished and dying for a smoke. 

As he walked past the corner of one block he saw a young African-American woman smoking outside a small shop. She was a voluptuously heavy and well-groomed woman. He somehow managed to offer a flirtatious smile and charm two cigarettes out of her.  _ 'One for the road' _ , she had said with a sweet smile and handed him a second cigarette. She lit the first smoke for him, smiling seductively and he would have liked nothing more than to escort her to the nearest alley and fuck her huge bosoms silly. Instead, he just faked a smile, thanking her before he walked away... feeling as horny as a three balled tomcat.

The cigarette wasn't of his favorite brand, but smoking eased both his hunger and his mind. He wandered aimlessly, circling Heero's block, still apprehensive of going back to the apartment. He simply didn't know what to say or do once he got there. The friendship he had been so certain of was now threatened. It felt as though it was standing a one-week trial.

Reflecting on his short shared past with Heero, Duo found that he could hardly recall the reason they became friends in the first place. The whole concept of their friendship suddenly felt alien to him, farfetched, as though it never happened. Was it all in his head?

He struggled to recall what Heero and he had done to pass their free time and scarce mundane moments together, but failed to remember anything substantial. After all, it's been almost twelve years since they had first met. All he could recall was that Heero mostly kept to himself and that he used to follow him around, babbling about stuff and hoping Heero might be listening. Thinking back, Duo sadly recalled that between all the preparations, the fighting and Gundam repair/maintenance, they used most of their spare time to sleep. The only time he had time spent  _ "hanging out" _ with Heero, without doing anything mission related, was when they both happened to be sleeping in the same room together – usually a dormitory of some private boarding school they had infiltrated for cover. But that was just a necessary evil; Heero probably preferred to lower his guard next to a fellow pilot rather than to sleep in the company of strangers.

Frustrated, Duo kicked an empty soda can lying on the pavement. He took a long drag on his smoke and tried to calm the swirling storm inside his head. He was prone to losing his sense to fury. If there was one thing his priest insisted to get through to him during his time in prison – it was to keep his anger from getting the better of him. His Sexual Rage Disorder was a dangerous trait. Thoughts bordering on the sinister or even insane tended to infect his mind when his reason lost to anger.

The damn prison shrink, who had boldly labeled him as a severe case of Borderline Personality Disorder and a damned Sex Addict, prescribed him medication to prevent his violent episodes. However, he would be damned if he ever used drugs again. He wanted his mind to be his and his alone. As screwed-up as may be, Duo had no desire to alter it in any way; never again. Enough. Fuck the meds.

So instead he took a deep breath, inhaled more smoke and repeated the exercise until his heartbeat calmed and his rage somewhat subsided. The fog obscuring his rationality gradually diminished to its usual murky state. There was enough haze to still shroud his reasonable mind, but not enough to completely conceal it. Once his mind was cleared of angry and hateful thoughts, his reason re-emerged from within the fog. Sensible and fairly relaxed, Duo took a long drag on his rapidly shortening cigarette and resumed his musings.

There simply had to be  _ something _ in his and Heero's shared history that would prove to Heero that he shouldn't dismiss their friendship so easily!

He frowned, straining as he grasped at straws. Thinking back, he recalled that his first encounter with Heero was rough and almost deadly. They definitely started off on the wrong foot, but he would have liked to believe that that shaky road had eased into a smoother sailing later on. He recalled that Heero had begun to somehow tolerate his presence, silently and gradually accepting his company.

_ Think about it man, I was the first outta the guys to try to get close... it was like taming a freaking stallion. Yeah, I mean, if it weren't for me – the others wouldn't even had a chance to get past his defenses. And NO ONE got as close as I have—had—am! I mean, shit, that makes me his best bud, right? I was his first! Heh. Shit. I must be as horny as a motherfucker to be thinking in those terms... _

Sly erotic thoughts filled his mind with nasty images of blood, jealous lust and sex. He imagined Heero's sexual innocence as he pictured him as a teenage boy, his lithe and powerful body quivering with unfathomable desire as he lost his sexual innocence in a wild sexual fantasy of a much older Duo. His mind wandered off and a nasty smirk twisted his face, staining his cobalt eyes with a dangerous kind of darkness. He licked his lips hungrily as the devouring rage, which had burnt acidly through his veins but moments ago, formed into something much darker, cynical and perilously possessive. Such fantasies were out of his control. They were extremely dangerous and jeopardized his sanity, mostly because he enjoyed them more than he should. Nevertheless, he never entertained sadistically erotic thoughts of Heero before, and certainly not of the body of a boy he now knew as a man. He wasn't some pedophile freak! He was just horny, that's all.

And yet, recalling how that desolate and clueless boy, whose kindhearted nature constantly struggled to surface above his iron mask, had gradually learned to trust him, piqued his desire to an almost intolerable level. Mental images of the boy he had known over a decade ago, nude and stripped down to his very soul while his body was being ravaged, filled Duo's mind and excited him to the point of breathlessness. He could almost  _ taste _ the sweat on that boy's skin, smooth and salty on his tongue. He could almost  _ hear _ his hoarse desperate panting, shallow and heavy with need. He could almost  _ feel _ the boy's hot flesh quiver beneath and around him, muscles stretching painfully to accompany his throbbing manhood. Lastly, Duo could almost certainly  _ see _ the hurt in those bottomless Prussian blue eyes as they closed gently, sadly, succumbing to the complete loss of innocence. The torn gaze only served to excite Duo further. 

The dark fantasy was delicious and frightening at the same time. Aroused, Duo took a quivering breath, shuddering with unrequited lust. He felt himself harden and actually had to stop walking, close his eyes and think about brick walls, counting brick by brick, before he could calm down, or else his fantasy would take him to places he didn't really wish to venture to at the moment.

He took a shaky drag on his smoke, troubled. He wondered why his mind has drifted to such dark regions. He had been through more than enough therapy in prison to be rid of such thoughts, or at the very least ignore them. Sure, he was horny, but that was no excuse... was it?

He could forgive himself for gawking at Heero the way he had yesterday. He could forgive himself for jerking off in the shower soon afterwards, but he could not forgive himself for the images that just flashed through his mind. It was wrong; doing such things to Heero – no, to _ anyone! _ – would be terribly  _ wrong _ . He had learned his lesson... all too well.

Angry with himself, Duo stubbed out his cigarette on a nearby lamppost. The smoky stub fell to the pavement and he crushed it with his heavy black boot. Sighing, he walked onwards and fished the second cigarette the lady had given him out of his shorts' pocket. Turning around the corner of Heero's block, he saw an old man smoking and asked him for a light. Troubled, he resumed his pointless circling of Heero's block while smoking a second cigarette.

Over the past year, during which he had waited to finally see Heero again, Duo never dared thinking or dreaming about him in that way. He kept Heero safe in the shelter of what was left of his sensible mind, treasuring him more than anything or anyone. He had done his best to protect Heero from the darker regions of his crumbling sanity, from the urges and desires that sent him to prison in the first place. He had sworn to put an end to it after Ali's death and he needed pure thoughts of Heero to keep him sane. He needed their friendship to support him during moments when judgment and rationality escaped him beyond reach. Now that he was out of prison, he needed Heero to continue making sure that he would stay out of trouble. He could not allow the morbid darkness to seep into the safe region of his mind, where he kept his friendship with Heero hidden from perverse psychosis.

_ 'You can never be a friend to me...' _ Duo sorrowfully recalled Heero's accusation and the words suddenly rang painfully true. In the end, he was too insane to truly be a friend to anyone, let alone Heero. When it came down to it, Duo could not deny that during the past year, his friendship with Heero did not exist outside the safety of his own deluded mind. Perhaps it never truly existed at all.

Could it be that he had mistaken being Heero's first and  _ only _ friend, with being his one and only  _ true _ friend? It was a distinction Heero has probably learned to make over the past decade. No doubt he had lost his virginal naivety a long time ago. The past ten years have undoubtedly dealt him a fair share of lessons to learn. Perhaps he had wised up long before Duo had. But there was no denying that he was still Heero's  _ first! _ He will always have that. He will always have that first claim over Heero.

Why, a dozen years ago, Heero had been a virgin in almost every aspect. Duo knew for certain that he was the first person Heero allowed to come close. He was the first person Heero had ever reached a hand to when in need for assistance. How else would he have escaped from the Alliance Military Hospital in one piece? Even back then, Duo was smart enough to realize that jumping out the window of that hospital building along with him had been a literal leap of faith for Heero. It was probably the first time Heero allowed himself to put his faith in anyone. It was a beginning of a (he would have liked to say  _ beautiful _ ) friendship. 

But that wasn't when he had first made his claim over Heero. His first claim was made by gunshot, by the two bullets he had fired at Heero – marking his body forever. Heero responded best to violence; he had to shatter his way into the boy's iron-clad heart before trust could be formed. Their friendship was forged with and through fire, beginning with those two bullets.

Whether it was during their time undercover in various boarding schools or during missions, Heero had learned to tolerate his company. At times, he even seemed at ease around him. Every experience they shared back then had been a first for Heero. He was there when Heero's virginal tongue first tasted ice cream and he was the first to offer Heero's virginal body a friendly touch. He was there when Heero first played team sports and was praised freely by their peers and he was the first to see the sheepish and humble shine in Heero's eyes as the boy turned away uncomfortably. He was there when Heero had first fallen ill with Earth's influenza and he was the first Heero had solely depended on while being incapacitated by disease. On the battlefield, he was the first whose skills Heero had acknowledged and he was the first Heero had chosen to cooperate with. He was the first Heero had ever disobeyed an order for and he was the first Heero had fought for as a person rather than a cause. Every small step Heero had taken towards his humanity had been with him or for him. He had taken a boy who had known nothing beyond his training as a terrorist and brought him to life. Cocky, sure, but true.

An image flashed in his mind, one he often reflected on when he thought of Heero: the moment he had confessed that he considered him a friend, way back when he had rescued him from the C-102 OZ base. The look in Heero's eyes after he had acknowledged him as a friend was an image that stuck with Duo through the years. The torn look in his eyes, the clear need to convey things he couldn't possibly bring himself to say, was something Duo could never forget. In his eyes, that moment represented who Heero was: an aloof and desolate person dying to reach out; a fierce and powerful soldier battling with his humanity; a presence both yielding yet solid, cold and yet burning intensely at the same time. Heero always seemed to be struggling between two extreme opposites. He would take one step towards his humanity, then two steps back, recoiling back anxiously.

The biggest leap backwards had occurred when the war ended, Duo suddenly recalled. All of the pilots landed on the MO2 resource satellite at the end of the final battle. Once recuperated, Heero had left the satellite and vanished without saying a word. It was as though the very prospect of a life without fighting had chased him away. Their friendship wasn't enough for him. Then again, Duo supposed not much could be said for his own human courtesy. After Heero disappeared that night, Duo never bothered searching for him. He was hardly affected by the loss of the person he had considered as his best friend. After the Eve War he had travelled here and there, working as a delivery man just so he'll have something to do with his time and so that he never had to stay at the same place for too long. On one of his delivery jobs to L4 he decided to drop by Quatre's place and that was when Heero suddenly contacted him out of the blue and just in the nick of time, giving him crucial information that had saved Quatre from being killed in an assassination attempt. If Heero hadn't called and asked for his and the other pilots' aid to stop terrorists from getting their hands on the Gundams, Duo was sure that they never would have reunited.

When that ordeal was resolved Heero disappeared again. He only seemed to resurface if war became imminent. Duo didn't even think about trying to find him again, until he was asked by Quatre to locate Heero and tell him of their plan to send the Gundams into the sun and dispose of them once and for all. He managed to track Heero down in some L1 high-school. Apparently, he had been posing as a student again. Their encounter had been brief: Heero gave him Wing-ZERO's coordinates and that was it. He vanished from L1 and only resurfaced again when the Mariemaia Uprising broke out. That was the last he had seen of Heero. The last time they were in the same room together, Heero had punched him hard in the gut and that was goodbye: Heero ran off to save the world again and that was it. He never saw him again until yesterday.

Duo simply moved on with his life and soon became too absorbed in alcohol and drugs to actually give a fuck about anyone or anything. Life after the war lacked the thrill of battle and the rush of danger. Narcotics had been a good substitute. They eased his mind when nightmares came and provided the rush when numbness took over. The only price he had to pay was his body and soul, not something he really cared about. And that was that; anything else became obsolete, including Heero.

A dark forbidding feeling rose deep inside of him, twisting his gut painfully. A small voice, remnants of crumbling reason, whispered that there lay the root of the problem: even though he was the first to teach Heero friendship, he was also the first to let him down.

Denial kicked in and quickly formed into a flaming ball of anger, coursing through his body like a volcanic stream of boiling magma. Loathing burnt in his blood, twisting his logic so that the world would make sense again. It was easier to channel the guilt outwards rather than to blame himself. He had no doubt that Heero had wrongfully accused him of betrayal. It was Heero's fault! He was the one who split! He was the one to break things off at MO2!

It didn't matter anymore, though. All he could do now was try make things right from here on. His very existence depended on Heero. He had no other aspirations, but to be with Heero. Only Heero could save him from himself and that was why he refused to be cast away by false accusations of his so-called faulty past.

What's done is done; he couldn't change that or how Heero interpreted what had transpired between them. Some part of him, the diminishing rational one, knew that he was the one at fault. There was something dark, something hidden, something very  _ painful _ lurking just beneath the surface of his consciousness. And that something  _ knew _ just how much wrong he had done to Heero. But this dim knowledge was buried under thick and guarded layers of ignorance and denial. It was completely out of reach for his conscious mind. It was there, but completely forgotten. All Duo was willing to accept was that whatever he had felt for Heero back then – whether he had truly cared or not – that didn't matter anymore. Right now, he was certain that he cared for Heero. The feeling  _ had _ to be genuine, because it was the only feeling he was capable of having without being strung out of his mind. He had developed a true affection towards Heero, a dependence he couldn't live without.

When it came down to it, Duo knew that Heero had been there for him during the war. Heero never abandoned him then, and he didn't turn his back to him yesterday when he had shown up on his doorstep after ten years. That  _ must _ mean that there was still hope for their friendship. There had to be, because he won't have it any other way. He needed Heero in order to live. He needed him in order to keep sane.

Determined, Duo spun to face the narrow side street leading to Heero's apartment building. He looked at it firmly.

Much was needed to be said and done. A friendship had to be both re-acknowledge and restored. He wasn't about to give up his claim on Heero. He was Heero's first, and if needed, he was going to be Heero's last. He would not have it any other way. By the end of this one week, Heero was going to be his friend – whether he wanted to or not.

*             *             *

By the time Duo made it back to Heero's place, it was about half past six AM. The main road was buzzing with morning traffic and the August morning-sun was beating down on his head as though it was already high-noon. 

The elevator chimed when it reached the third floor. Duo managed one last look at his own disheveled image reflecting on the metallic doors. He was still dressed in baggy black shorts, a black tank-top and heavy black boots; his arm-length tattoo and large silver cross were accented by the black attire. 

_ I look like a freakin' punk, _ he realized with dismay and ran a hand to push his medium-choppy hair back, attempting to give himself a somewhat decent appearance. It was no wonder Heero won't take him seriously... he looked like some no-good  _ hick _ .

Once he stepped out of the elevator, Duo spotted a woman standing in front of Heero's open door, speaking with the young man. Scowling deeply, he halted quickly, watching the couple.

The woman was a dark-skinned brunette, her hair long and wavy, gathered into a bountiful ponytail of curly brown hair. He couldn't tell for certain from a distance, but he got the impression that she was older than Heero and he by half a decade at least, and most likely of Latin origin. The older woman was dressed in a blue hotel-maid uniform and white canvas shoes. Her plain maid dress clung to her curvaceous figure, stretching over her lush bosoms and voluptuous curvy behind. She was a full-figured woman; not obese, but filled in all the right places, like a Renaissance work of art. He was getting horny again. He couldn't take his eyes off of her  _ bootylicious _ behind. He had to force himself to look away before his manhood would give the lady a much deserved standing-ovation.

Heero was standing at the doorway, dressed casually in light-blue jeans and a simple gray T-shirt. He had his thinly framed black glasses back on, looking like a dork again. He nodded intently at what the woman was saying.

Duo leaned against the wall, attempting to be as inconspicuous as possible. Silently, he watched the couple continue their conversation. 

The woman handed Heero a small glass container. 

"I made some stew for lunch," Duo heard her say; her voice carried a heavy Spanish accent. "Cook some rice to go alongside it – and  _ no _ snacks between meals." 

Duo scowled at the woman, displeased by what he heard.  _ Da fuck this bitch is bossing him around? God, please don't tell me that she's Heero's— _ Duo didn't even want to finish that train of thought; it didn't go well with his growing obsession over Heero and it most certainly didn't go well with his plan to talk Heero back into their friendship. He couldn't afford to have  _ any  _ interference!

"Sure," Heero confirmed as he accepted the box. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, as though uncomfortable. The Latin woman nodded hurriedly, acknowledging his thanks.

"Adriel still hasn't touched his math assignments for the summer," she said with dismay, "he has to turn them in at the beginning of the school year. Make sure he completes them," she ordered.

"I will," Heero promised, nodding curtly.

Duo rolled his eyes. Heero was now taking orders from a damn  _ maid? _ He simply couldn't live without someone bossing him around now could he?

"Good," the bitch acknowledged brusquely. "I'll pick him up at around five thirty," she added as she pulled her purse up her shoulder, indicating her wish to leave. "Keep him out of trouble."

"You have nothing to worry about, Marissa."

"Easy for you to say," the woman muttered bitterly. "You're too lenient and I'm the one paying for it," she grumbled tiredly.

"You're free to make other arrangements if you're displeased with me," Heero replied calmly. "If it's about the money—"

"Don't even go there, Hiro," the woman, Marissa, snapped, sending Heero a sharp glare. Heero returned her fierce look evenly. Eventually the woman sighed and looked down at her wrist watch.

"I should get going," she leaned forward to peek into the apartment. "Adriel!" she called, "Serun buen chico! No le da ningún problema!"

"Sí mamá!" a child's voice called from within Heero's apartment and Duo's heart nearly jumped to his throat. Even though it should have been obvious, he had just realized what the couple's conversation was all about: there was a _ damn brat  _ in Heero's apartment!

"Shit," he whispered under his breath.  _ Seriously, Heero? You're babysitting some bitch's kid? What da fuck man! _

His plan to quickly reconcile with Heero has just flown out the window and crashed face-down into the street, splattering all over the pavement in a bloody mess. Duo crossed his arms angrily over his chest and glared at the maid at Heero's doorstep.

With a final polite nod for goodbye, the woman hurried to leave for work. She rushed towards the elevator, walking past Duo and leaving a sweet trail of perfume in her wake. As she walked past him, their eyes met; her dark, almond-shaped eyes scrutinized him like he was some scumbag, a damn  _ punk _ hanging around the building.

With his hands still folded firmly over his chest, Duo closed his fists tightly. Glowering angrily, he shifted his dark gaze to follow the woman. In response, Marissa hurried towards the elevator, still giving him an uneasy look until the doors closed behind her.

Duo snorted in disgust and turned the other way. His gaze locked on Heero, who was still standing at the doorway, looking at him silently. Duo remained rooted to his spot and simply stared back. He didn't like the way Heero looked with his eyeglasses on. He didn't like this version of him, all mature and so God damned  _ domesticated _ . There was so much anger still boiling in his blood right now, so much he wanted to say and do, but he was rendered incompetent by the knowledge that there was a damn  _ kid _ in Heero's apartment – an invader; perhaps even Heero's savior for the time being.

_ Let him keep his fucking grudge for now, _ Duo mused wrathfully;  _ you just wait 'till that damn squirt leaves. Then I'll give you a piece of my mind, ya jerk. You're gonna realize why you let me into your home. I ain't no charity case of yours. You let me in cuz you KNOW we're friends. _

All he had to do was make Heero admit to it out loud; by any means necessary.

"Are you ready to come in?" Heero's tone was quiet. Duo would have liked to believe that Heero was aware that he was treading on thin ice. He sounded very calm, not a hint of impatience or annoyance in his voice, unlike when he had irritably informed Duo that he did not consider them to be friends. 

Duo took a deep breath, struggling to regain a cool composure and contain his irrational fury. As angry as he was with Heero, he knew better than to lash at him and relieve his rage all at once. That was how people ended up hurt, and injuring Heero won't benefit him in any way... that much he knew.

"Yeah," he muttered and walked the rest of the distance to Heero's apartment. He stopped at the doorway, standing directly in front of the other man and looking him straight in the eye. There wasn't much of a height difference between them, but Heero was still about half an inch shorter; inferior. He was no longer the deadly individual Duo had known him to be. His remarkable strength seemed to have depleted over the past decade. The look in his eyes was still intense though; still powerful, calculated, defiant, daring— still Heero's, if not for the eyeglasses that is. The seeing-aid took something away from the intensity of Heero's gaze, from the enchanting and striking beauty of his eyes. They made him look like someone else; a stranger, someone Duo didn't know. Someone he had no intention of knowing. He was only interested in  _ Heero _ , not  _ Hiro, _ after all.

Looking at the man, Duo struggled to find a hint of his old buddy, searching for him hidden somewhere in the man's familiar yet foreign expression. He noted that Heero had showered and shaved. His hair was still damp and he smelled of a pleasant aftershave. He looked much better than he had when he had fainted on the bench.

Heero readjusted his black eyeglasses and returned Duo's gaze evenly, calmly waiting for Duo to say whatever was on his mind. And at that particular moment, there was only one thing Duo needed to make sure:

"Heero, that woman, is she—"

"My next-door neighbor," Heero cut in, a frown on his face, "Are you going to come in or not?" 

Duo nodded silently, although he was not relieved just yet. He had to make certain that the damn woman won't become an obstacle in his path. He mustn't let her get in the way.

Heero stepped aside and allowed Duo to enter the apartment before closing the door. A little boy, about six or seven years old, was sitting on one of the tall bar chairs by the kitchen bar, swinging his small legs back and forth and sipping a glass of milk. Three plates were arranged on the bar top, along with a breadbasket full of fresh toast and a butter plate. The scent of home cooking was in the air, scrambled eggs by the smell of it. Chowder was sitting at the kitchen's entrance, wagging its tail lazily against the hardwood floor. 

As Duo entered the apartment, the child turned around to look at the new arrival. He was a small dark-skinned boy with lengthy mushroom-cut ebony-black hair reaching down to his earlobes. His features were quite exotic, much like his mother's. He stared at Duo with a pair of expressive hazel eyes glancing above the rim of a glass of milk he was holding. The child was dressed simply and colorfully, his small legs clad in a pair of worn-out athletic shoes that \looked like they had seen more than their fair share of fooling around outdoors.

Duo didn't know why, but his first reaction to seeing the boy's little face was that he wanted to punch him straight in the nose. His anger threatened to resurface with a vengeance and he had to take deep long breaths in order to contain it.

"Adriel," Heero called as he walked into the kitchen, limping slightly as he headed for the stove. "This is Duo. He's from out of town."

"Hey," Duo raised his hand and greeted the boy rather irritably.

The boy set his milk down, exposing a white milk-moustache. "Hi," he returned the greeting half-heartedly and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing the white liquid over his dark skin. His voice was chirpy and childish. The boy returned to face the table and sipped his milk. His little legs ceased swinging back and forth.

Holding a frying-pan full of scrambled eggs, Heero turned away from the stove. "Are you hungry?" he asked, looking at Duo as he approached the kitchen bar. He served a portion of scrambled eggs into each of the three plates. 

"Uh, yeah, starving," Duo muttered quietly. He walked towards the kitchen bar and took a seat on a chair next to the boy. Suddenly, he felt very  _ large _ and very  _ old _ , which made him even more uncomfortable and irritable.

"So,  _ squirt _ ," he turned to the dark haired boy, trying to sound like a friendly average Joe even though he still felt like punching the kid for invading his and Heero's privacy. "You a buddy of Heero's?"

The little boy shrugged and kept his head bowed as he pushed his food around with a fork. "We watch soccer together," his little childish voice mumbled a strange explanation. Unlike his mother, the child did not have a heavy Spanish accent; his accent was an American one.

"Uh huh," Duo let out in response to the bizarre answer. "And that makes you  _ friends? _ " he stretched the last word for a sarcastic effect which the boy failed to pick up on. 

"I guess," the child shrugged casually, "We play videogames too." 

"I've been looking after Adriel during the summer vacation while his mother is at work," Heero explained as he served Duo a steaming cup of coffee and took a seat on the chair opposite of the two.

"Hiro watches over me after school too," the boy was kind enough to supply; "but it's more fun during the summer, except for homework..." he added with a burdened sigh.

Duo rolled his eyes as he turned to Heero. "So basically, you're a  _ baby _ sitter," he emphasized just to tease the other man. 

"Hey!" the little boy exclaimed, displeased as he picked up on the emphasis Duo had put on the word  _ 'baby' _ .

"I'm almost  _ seven! _ "

"I suppose I am," Heero muttered, eyeing him in annoyance and ignoring the child's exclamation.

"And here I thought you were making 'nough doe with that computer shit."

Heero chose not to answer, but continued to glare fiercely at Duo. He ignored the man's cold gaze and turned to the kid again. "So, squirt, which football team's your favorite?" 

The boy finally looked up at Duo; his exotic hazel eyes glimmered intensely. "Not football! I like  _ soccer!" _ he corrected in a childish whine. "And Club América is the best!" he declared with a proud grin. There was a jubilant glint in the boy's eyes which made Duo want to smack the happy expression off his cheeky little face. Something about the child made Duo incredibly angry in a most irrational way.

"Last year Hiro took me to see 'em play against Inter Milan! We drove all the way to  _ Jersey! _ " 

" _ Oh w-o-w, _ " Duo faked a cheerful reply, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Yanno, people don't usually brag 'bout goin' to Jersey. Good for you, squirt."

The boy didn't pick up on Duo's cynicism and offered a big smile in return, exposing all of his missing milk-teeth. Duo grinned nastily as he mused that the kid looked like a damn hobo.

"Yeah, it was great! Rodriguez Chávez is  _ AWESOME! _ He's the  _ BEST _ soccer player in the world, yanno! Mamá comes from the same place he does. Did you see him play? He was  _ so cool! _ "

"Right," Duo muttered, indifferent to the boy's long and overly-excited stream of words. Ignoring the kid, he turned to look at Heero, raising an eyebrow. "I didn't know you were into that sorta shi—" he was about to catch himself from swearing next the boy again, but then decided against it. Smirking, he finished his sentence with a strong emphasis on the word " _ shit. _ "

Heero's gaze turned a couple of degrees colder and he straightened in his chair, taking a more defensive pose. Duo had to keep himself from smirking; the gesture brought on a welcomed sense of nostalgia. 

"Since when do  _ you _ like sports?"

"Since it's none of your damn business," Heero muttered snippily, his tone was low and dripping with resentment. He was obviously irritated by Duo's insolent behavior, which raised a pleasant tingly feeling under Duo's skin.

"Yeah," Adriel cut in with his annoying little chirping voice, "We're gonna see 'em play in Estadio Azteca one day, right? That's their home stadium – it's  _ HUGE! _ " 

Duo felt like rolling his eyes.  _ God, I hate kids, _ he grunted to himself,  _ can't believe I used to fucking be one. _ With each passing minute, he liked the boy less and less. 

"We're gonna see 'em play there, right?" Adriel turned to Heero with a pair of hopeful hazel eyes. "I bet we can see Chávez play for Mexico in the next World Cup. It's gonna be in Mexico – right? We can go see him play again!" 

"We'll just have to wait and see if Mexico plays next year," Heero replied quietly and Duo could have sworn that he saw the man's lips curl up with a hidden smile. 

Adriel rolled his eyes. "Don't be  _ stupid _ , Hiro, they always do," he muttered and then his eyes suddenly lit up again. "Hey! Maybe we can go see Club América just play a league game in Estadio Azteca? Uncle Pedro goes there EVERY year. We can go with him!"

"Why won't you simply go with your uncle?" Heero suggested.

"Nah, I'll go with you," the child replied casually, shrugging nonchalantly.

Duo could have sworn that he saw Heero fight off a smile. He scowled deeply, watching Heero intently. He hated the way the man was responding to the damn squirt.

"Then perhaps one day," Heero said quietly, "when you're older," he promised and cast his gaze down. At first Duo figured it was because Heero was reluctant to let him see that he was close to the damn brat, but then he realized that Heero was casting his gaze down because he was  _ lying _ . Duo's scowl deepened. He wasn't blind; he could clearly see the rare affectionate shine in Heero's blue eyes, so why was he lying to the boy about taking him to the game?

"Gee," Duo turned to the boy with a false smile, faking a cheerful tone. "Sounds like you two are  _ best buds _ , huh?" he droned sarcastically.

"I guess," the boy mumbled awkwardly, looking uncertainly at the man at the other side of the table. Heero returned the boy's gaze with a steady gaze of his own, as if to assure him that they were indeed friends. 

Duo felt like he was two seconds away from simply  _ exploding _ . 

"So soccer, huh?" he muttered, smirking at Heero; "I wonder what else I dunno about you." 

"Hiro hates sushi!" Adriel was more than happy to supply him with the information. 

"No shit!" Duo exclaimed derisively, still sneering at Heero. "Good thing the squirt wasn't hangin' round ya ten years ago, huh Heero? You woulda shot him straight in da freakin' face for that kinda shit. Blown his fuckin' brains straight out!  _ BAM! _ " he finished with a hand pointed like a gun firing at the child's small head. 

"Duo," Heero grinded out a warning and the little boy's face paled at the colorful imagery. His dark eyes widened in fright and he turned to Heero, clearly upset. 

"You woulda _ shot _ me?" he asked in awe. Duo felt like grinning and had to keep himself from snickering out loud. 

Heero's face hardened into a glare. He stared Duo down angrily before turning to face the little boy and softening his expression. "Of course not," he said, keeping calm despite the obvious anger in his eyes. "Duo is just trying to scare you. He thinks he is being funny, but I suggest that he keeps his mouth shut from now on," he added a warning, glaring at Duo again. 

Duo ignored the glare and turned to the boy, smirking darkly. "Ya see squirt, that's exactly what he woulda told ya back then.  _ Shuddup  _ was about all you could get outta him!" 

"But I only said that he doesn't like sushi, everyone knows that," the boy mumbled, clearly confused by the strange turn the conversation has taken. 

"Yeah, well, and what if some damn Ozzie woulda shoved a Maki Roll down Heero's throat? Then you woulda felt kinda stupid for blurrtin' that shit out." 

"Stop being an ass Duo," Heero grunted, clearly annoyed if he had resorted to name calling; a rare thing indeed if Duo recalled correctly. "Leave the boy alone." 

However, little Adriel seemed fascinated by the strange things being said to him. He shifted his gaze from Duo to Heero, a curious look in his striking hazel eyes. 

"What's an Ozzie?" he asked Heero. 

"Just someone who  _ really _ wanted Heero to choke on some bad sushi," Duo answered smoothly, sneering in dark cynical amusement. 

Heero shook his head, apparently not appreciating Duo's attitude. Ignoring him, he turned to Adriel. 

"It's not important," he told the boy, "Just ignore whatever Duo says." 

"Yeah, you're  _ really weird _ ," the boy agreed, nodding. 

"That's what they keep tellin' me," Duo muttered bleakly and reached for the coffee Heero had served him earlier, hiding his face behind the mug as he sipped the drink. He didn't feel like looking at either Heero or the squirt anymore. 

Ignoring Duo's sassy attitude, Heero turned to the boy again. "I have some work to complete today, but we have to get started on your homework. I promised your mother you'll get it done by the end of the day."

" _ Oh, man! _ " the boy whined; "Do I  _ have _ to?" 

"Yes, you do," Heero replied evenly and the child heaved a dramatic little sigh.

"But I still have a few more days left before school!"

"A good time as any to stop procrastinating," Heero replied calmly and Adriel gave him this funny look, like he had just seen the man grow another head. 

"Procasta- _ what? _ "

"Procrastination," Heero explained calmly: "replacing high-priority actions with tasks of lower priority."

"You mean like doing something  _ fun? _ "

"Yes."

"But I  _ like _ having fun!"

"True, but one cannot always put off important tasks just to have... fun."

"And that's the whole nine yards when it comes to Heero," Duo exclaimed, grinning. Heero sent him a quick glare to shut him up.

Adriel also stared at Duo, confused, and then turned back to Heero. "What if I play just for a  _ little while _ and then we'll finish my homework?"

"This isn't open for negotiation," Heero informed him.

"Just  _ one _ game," the child insisted; "You can finish your work first, and then we'll do mine."

"Adriel," Heero warned; "you're negotiating."

"Yeah, cuz I'm  _ real good _ at it," the child chirped snootily.

An uncontrollable laughter burst out of Duo in a series of snorted chuckles. He hurried to stifle his laughter. He didn't want it to show that he was actually responding positively to the damn squirt. But he had to give him some credit; the kid was actually bargaining with the  _ Perfect Soldier _ – and it looked like he was winning no less. That deserved some credit, even if the boy didn't know any better.

"Fine," Heero gave in; "Just one video game."

" _ Alright! _ " the child called in triumph. He jumped off the bar chair, leaving his unfinished breakfast behind and ran to the living room, where his colorful school bag was lying on the sofa. Duo watched the kid pull out a small videogame console and controllers before hooking them up to the large flat-screen TV. He turned back to Heero, smirking sarcastically. 

"Fucking unbelievable," he muttered, shaking his head; "I never thought I'd see the day  _ you  _ bend over like some hoe. The brat played you like a fiddle!" he laughed.

Heero ignored the criticism and reached for his mug for a sip of coffee. They finished their breakfast silently. Once done, Heero got up and began clearing the dishes off the table. Duo shoved his empty plate towards Heero.

"So where's the father?" he asked casually.

"Deceased," Heero replied tersely as he turned to put the dishes in the sink. He grabbed a kitchen cloth to wipe the worktop clean. The man's restraint was something familiar to Duo; he enjoyed it, mainly because he recognized  _ his  _ Heero in it. He counted three beats before voicing his next nasty comment. 

"Momma  _ Maria _ looks pretty damn hot," he stated, sneering. "So tell the truth  _ soldier-boy _ , you doin' her or what?"

"The name is  _ Marissa _ ," Heero corrected calmly despite Duo's impudent attitude; "and that's none of your damn business."

"Is that a yes? Kudos, Heero! That's one  _ fine _ piece of ass. I wouldn't mind having some of that booty myself, yanno what I'm sayin'?"

Heero's hand curled into a tight fist, balled around the kitchen cloth he was holding. He turned slowly to face Duo, glaring angrily. "Be quiet," he warned with a low voice.

" _ What? _ " Duo droned in a harmless tone, though his cobalt eyes shone darkly, spitefully. "You're a big boy, aren't you? We can talk about that sorta shit. Oh, hey!  Maybe she's payin' you with sex? Is that it? You babysit her baby boy and she puts out? Does she let you bang her  _ lovely Latin ass? _ C'mon! You gotta tell me! Are we enjoying a little horizontal  _ salsa dancing _ with our next door neighbor?"

An image flashed in his mind: He saw Marissa in her blue maid dress, the unbuttoned top pulled down to her waist, leaving her smooth torso and huge bosoms exposed. She was bent over a motel bathroom sink. Heero stood behind her, fucking her up the ass, while he stood behind them both, thrusting into Heero with all his might. He could see their reflection in the mirror ahead. Marissa's large, tanned breasts filled the mirror with fleshy round goodness. The heavy mounts bounced up and down, jiggling wildly as she was being fucked from behind like a horny bitch.

He saw Heero's reflection as well; his eyes were closed and his face a mask of ecstasy as he fucked the dark skinned woman. He could see himself grabbing the young man's hips as he penetrated him fiercely. Sandwiched between the two, Heero threw his head back in pleasure as he kept thrusting into the woman's voluptuous ass, fucking while being fucked. He moved in perfect sync with Heero's thrusting, moving hard and fast, driving in so deep that Heero banged Marissa even harder against the sink, causing the woman to scream and moan like a dirty whore. In his mind's eyes, Duo could clearly see Heero's nude body glisten with sweat as he panted and moaned hungrily, basking in sensually feral three-way sex.

_ Fuck, _ Duo cussed as he became aware of his shortening breath and hard erection. He hurried to shake the image out of his head, feeling so horny he thought he might burst. His anger and lust merged into a hateful force, compelling him to instigate a fight with Heero. He simply couldn't stop himself from being nasty; he was enjoying himself beyond belief. He wanted Heero to  _ suffer _ , he wanted him to  _ hurt _ . He wanted to insult Heero so bad that his infamous temperance would shatter and he wouldn't be able to hold back anymore, draw a gun outta freaking nowhere, point it to his head and threaten to blow his fucking brains out if he didn't keep his  _ damn mouth shut! _

He wanted Heero to act like  _ Heero _ and not like some damn  _ Mister Nice Guy _ who helps little boys with their homework. He wanted Heero to be the man he wished to befriend again!

"I've agreed to watch over Adriel this summer because Marissa couldn't afford summer camp," Heero explained calmly, apparently choosing to ignore Duo's rudeness and being completely oblivious to Duo's little daydream.

"If she does repay me, it's by making us lunch, nothing more." Heero spoke coolly, like he was correcting a child and explaining his error. "We're just neighbors," he added with a sigh. "If you have a problem with what you see here, take it up with me," Heero turned to face Duo again; his blue eyes almost seemed wounded. "Don't belittle that boy's mother and  _ don't _ tell a small  _ child _ that he could get  _ shot _ for speaking his mind."

Suddenly, Duo didn't feel like taunting Heero anymore. He sat still and gaped at the man, feeling like a complete scumbag. Reason finally kicked in and he realized that he had behaved like a childish jerk. All he had planned to do was to talk some sense into Heero, he wanted to remind the man why they should be friends, and instead he was picking up a fight, pushing Heero away even more. He had to think of a better way to get through to Heero. Insulting the man and the people around him was not a good idea as it seemed initially. Gradually, his anger melted away, leaving more room for logic and common sense.

Taking a shaky breath, Duo tried to offer Heero an apologetic smile. He honestly regretted his behavior, which surprised him. Was Heero  _ that _ important to him that he was willing to put anger, frustration and possessive lust aside in order to regain the man's trust? It seemed as though Heero  _ really _ did have a positive effect on him.

"I uh... I'm sorry man," Duo mumbled and cast his gaze down, genuinely shameful. It was an emotion he hadn't felt in years, which was another encouraging sign that he was on the right track. Heero  _ will _ make him better.

"I dunno what came over me," he continued quietly, "I didn't mean any disrespect, sorry." He looked up at Heero, his cobalt eyes searching for understanding. "My head's all full of shit, yanno? It's totally fucked up. I wasn't thinkin' straight. Sorry." 

After looking lengthily at Duo, Heero released a long sigh. "I don't know what you've been through over the past decade, Duo, but you've changed," he said quietly, clearly upset. "And I don't believe that you changed for the better." 

"Yeah, I know," Duo muttered, still keeping his head bowed for he was unable to face Heero. "I'm sorry... I know." He got up and prepared to leave the kitchen. He needed to get away from Heero for a while. He walked to the living room, where Adriel was playing a soccer video game. The little boy looked up at him as he approached; there was a curious shine in his hazel eyes. They were a perfect combination of brown and blue. An exotic compromise between two dominant colors created a pair of eyes that were light brown/amber near the pupils and dark blue/green on the outer part of the irises. The effect was intense; the child's eyes just pulled you in with a tight and relentless grip around your very soul.

Those striking multicolored eyes radiated a sense of familiarity that beckoned to Duo. He suddenly wondered if Heero's eyes would have looked the same if he hadn't been forced to witness so much killing and spent his childhood playing videogames instead. The thought threatened to anger him once again and so he quickly turned to search for his cigarettes, lying somewhere in the gym bag he had carried with him the day before. The bag was resting on the floor by the sofa. He could feel Adriel watching him as he rummaged through it, making a racket. The child's eyes were demanding to be acknowledged somehow.

Sighing, Duo fetched his smokes from the bag and turned back to the kid. "Hey there squirt," he muttered and glanced up briefly, noticing how Heero was eyeing him like a hawk. He looked back down at the boy sitting on the sofa. "Sorry 'bout before," he said only because he knew that Heero was listening.

" 's okay," the boy shrugged carelessly and kept playing, "You were just joking, right?" 

Duo supposed that unlike adults, children didn't bother holding a grudge for long; it probably interfered with their playtime so they forgot all about it. He gave the boy a big, fake, friendly smile. 

"Sure. Wasn't very funny though, was it?" 

The boy shrugged again and turned back to play his game. "Nah, not really," he muttered and in less than a second he was completely absorbed in the game again. Scowling, Duo clutched his pack of cigarettes and prepared to walk to the door.

"Where are you going?" Heero asked as he walked out of the kitchen.

"I'm dying for a smoke," Duo muttered, gesturing with the cigarette pack towards the door. He reached for the doorknob. 

"You can smoke in the laundry room," Heero offered, "You don't have to leave." 

Duo turned to face him, confused. "I figured you'd want me outta your hair for a while." 

"I never said such a thing," Heero replied with a frown. 

"But I... Shit, Heero. Why are you being so nice to me?" 

"Because you look like you need it," Heero replied earnestly; his Prussian blue eyes were calm and honest, making Duo feel guilty again. He sighed and bowed his head, having nothing to say. He didn't deserve such kindness, but he was happy to receive it. Kindness meant that there was still hope for him yet.

"Listen," he began slowly, trying to make up for his all of his tactless slipups; "I, uh... I'm just going out for a smoke, I need to clear my head a little," he turned to the door again. "I'll be back later." 

"Duo," Heero called after him, "I don't expect you to go down three stories and walk out of the building each time you want to have a cigarette. All I'm asking is that you use the laundry room and shut the door behind you." 

Duo dared to look at Heero again, his eyes hesitant and confused. He couldn't understand Heero anymore. Unlike in the past, Duo couldn't fathom what made the man tick. Back during the war Heero was driven by a single and unwavering sense of purpose.  _ 'Wartime Heero' _ was a very narrow and single minded person and those qualities made him very easy to read and to predict. Now, Duo didn't know who the man was anymore. It left him feeling insecure, confused, and therefore – angry. He couldn't afford to become enraged again.

"Uhm... thanks Heero," he mumbled. "I appreciate it. I appreciate everything, I really do. I'm sorry for being such an ass. I can do better, I swear ta God I'll do better. I really didn't mean nuthin' by what I said." He knew that he was babbling, but he couldn't help it in his confused state. He just wanted this  _ 'New Heero' _ , this  _ Hiro  _ person, to like him again. He kept his gaze down on the floor, absorbed in self-pity and battling with barely suppressed fury.

"Hiro," Adriel called from the sofa, "the game is stuck."

There was a short moment of silence as Heero continued to look thoughtfully at Duo. After a lengthy pause, he tore his gaze away and broke eye contact. 

"I'm coming," he told Adriel and, adjusting his eyeglasses, he sent Duo one last worried glance before he went to tend to the child.

Duo stood by the door for a minute longer, shifting his gaze between Heero and Adriel, carefully studying the interaction between the two. Adriel was obviously comfortable in Heero's presence; he allowed the man to come very near him and didn't seem to mind casual contact. Stranger still was that Heero actually offered the child such contact, being very familiar with him as well.

When Heero was done fixing the game he gave Adriel the controller back. Then, he offered the boy a small yet clearly warm smile – and Duo's heart cracked almost audibly. The boy grinned back widely, a big childish smile that presented all of his missing teeth. Duo watched heartbrokenly as in response to the boy's smile, Heero's smile widened into an unmistakably soft and affectionate expression.

Duo felt  _ hurt _ at the sight. He has never seen Heero smile at anyone before, not even the smallest of smiles. He wasn't surprised to see that the gentle expression suited Heero's handsome face. Time had been kind to Heero; his matured features could easily carry off such a kind and humble smile.

_ Fuck. He's fucking  _ **_gorgeous_ ** _ when he smiles! But shit man, this ain't the Heero I know! He's... he's not the same! _ Sighing dejectedly, Duo tore his gaze away from Heero's fine-looking face. Having had enough of staring at the "picture perfect" moment between the two, he headed to the laundry room to have his smoke, deeply troubled.

_ No... He's not the same at all. He's so much better than that person... and I'm... I'm so much worse... _

*             *             *

The laundry room was big enough to contain a washing machine and dryer, along with a hamper for dirty laundry. The room reeked of dog food and on the floor were a bowl of water and a bowl of dog food, right next to a round blue dog-bed full of golden fur that the damn dog had shed off.

_ Thrown to the dogs... _ Duo mused in dark amusement;  _ well, my life's a dog's life anyway... _

There was a large window at the wall opposite of the door, overlooking a backyard shared by the whole block. It was a square shaped patch of grass located between the backsides of nearby buildings. Duo opened the window and leaned forward on the ledge. Gazing down at the empty yard, he lit up his cigarette.

He wished the squirt would go home already so he could finally have a proper conversation with Heero. He needed to get things straightened out before he lost his freaking mind. Uncertainty made him anxious. He was constantly on edge. Such a mood would make him dangerous, and the last thing Duo needed was to become a threat to Heero. If push came to shove, he might end up doing something much worse than just scare a damn kid or tick Heero off. He might end up doing something much worse, something which Heero wouldn't be able to forgive so easily; something that might end up putting him in jail again and this time he was sure that his sentence wouldn't be so light.

A surprisingly genuine feeling stirred deep inside of him. A thought echoed clearly in his mind: _ I don't want to hurt Heero again. _

An image flashed in his mind and Duo shuddered as though suddenly cold. It was a dim image, seen as though through murky glass and hidden by heavy fog. It was an image of Heero, of hurt and – may Christ help him –  _ terror _ in his unusually vulnerable Prussian blue eyes.

Duo coughed, almost retching. His cigarette fell onto the ledge of the window and rolled down, plunging towards the backyard. Duo watched it numbly, feeling as though he himself was falling into a dark pit. He reached for his cross, praying for his faith to catch him from the fall.

Still holding onto his cross, Duo turned around to lean against the windowsill. Closing his eyes, he slowly slid down against the wall until he was sitting on the floor below the window. His fist remained closed tightly around his cross, his head bowed, as he prayed silently.

Something floated into his line of vision. Frowning, Duo turned his gaze to focus on it. It was strange; he couldn't recall opening his eyes at all. There was something floating across the small laundry room, drifting lazily in the air as though there was no gravity. It was a small aluminum-foil bag: ration packs.

Why would Heero have space rations in his laundry room? Why would he have them at all? And how in God's name were they  _ floating? _

Confused, Duo carefully rose to his feet without tearing his eyes off of the floating ration. Was he hallucinating? He hadn't hallucinated since detox. The small metallic bag floated towards him, as though guided by some mysterious force. It seemed so real, glimmering in the light coming from the window behind him. What the Hell was going on?

The floating ration drifted leisurely past him, brushing by his right ear. Puzzled, he turned so he could keep following it and nearly bumped his nose against the window.

"Holy fuck!" he cried as he was now faced with the window. It wasn't the fact that the window was suddenly closed that stunned him; it was the vision of space and the planet Earth below him which was so alarming. He was in space! Heero's laundry room was in freaking  _ space! _

"What da FUCK!?" he exclaimed, taking a shaky step back. Was he out of his mind?

_ Jesus Christ – what was in that cigarette?! _

Someone gasped sharply behind him. He whirled around, dazed.

It was dark. He was no longer in Heero's laundry room. He was someplace small, tight and shadowy. Space rations floated in the air; the Earth's light, pouring dimly from the window behind him, reflected from their metallic surface, causing them to glimmer with a faint blue halo. All he could see were shadows, blurry silhouettes moving in the darkness ahead. The pale Earth light could not reach so far to illuminate them as well. There were voices coming from the black void; mad whispers, a jumble of incoherent words. Sounds of distress echoed in the darkness around him, shrieking all at once in a deafening clamor. The hairs on the back of Duo's neck stood, horrified.

"Da Hell's going on?" he called out, panicked. His voice resonated in the wall-less space.

A short scream came from within the darkness and died out quickly. It was followed by a broken whimper. Duo squinted against the darkness, trying to make out anything more than blurry silhouettes moving in the distance. The whimpering echoed in the darkness – pained, desperate and mournful.

Duo realized that he was clutching something in his hand. Looking down, struggling to see in the pale halo the Earth light provided, he saw that he was holding his trusty old combat knife; the same knife Officer Hakeem tried to apprehend before his release from prison. The switchblade was open; the gleaming metal was smeared with blood.

A sharp gasp cut through the silence, echoing in the void until it faded. Duo's head shot back up. Suddenly, the voices ceased. Only blackness remained; a dark chasm of silence. Looking ahead, all Duo could see was black. He was consumed by it. His heart was flooded with it until his soul suffocated. He couldn't breathe. 

"Duo," Heero's quiet voice whispered from the blackness and Duo freaked out. Heero shouldn't be here. Not here, not in the darkest regions of his soul. _ No!  _ He wanted to scream at Heero to get out of there while he still could, but his mouth refused to form the words.

"Duo," Heero called again and Duo gasped— jerking awake.

Looking up, Duo was surprised to find that he had fallen asleep in Heero's laundry room. He was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the wall and holding a box of cigarettes in his hand.

Heero was standing at the doorway, looking at him worriedly through a pair of thinly-framed black eyeglasses. For a brief second, he didn't look like Heero at all. It took Duo a moment to get used to the sight of him as an adult.

"Duo?" Heero called his name again carefully, as though wary of his eerie silence.

"Yeah?" Duo finally replied shakily and stood up. He ran a hand through his hair a few times, taking a quivery breath.

"Why were you sleeping in here?"

"The dog's bed looked kinda inviting," Duo muttered heartlessly. He didn't feel like talking right now. All he wanted to do was crawl into a hole and die. Heero seemed to have picked up on his foul mood, and wisely said nothing. He stood at the doorway, studying Duo silently.

"You've been here for quite some time," Heero spoke after a while, looking at Duo with obvious concern. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, fine," Duo let out curtly; "Just having a smoke." He gestured with the cigarette box towards Heero. "I fell asleep, I guess. Jetlag, yanno?"

Heero nodded slowly. He turned to leave, but then seemed to regret it.

"Duo," he said quietly, still facing the door, holding the doorknob. "I think I owe you an apology." 

"Are ya fucking  _ nuts? _ " Duo exclaimed in alarm, refusing to believe what he had just heard. His nightmarish daydream was still fresh in his mind. The guilt was overwhelming. The last thing he wanted was to be apologized to, especially by Heero.

"You have nothing to apologize for," he quickly said, "Not to me,  _ that's _ for sure."

"I think I do," Heero insisted and turned back to face Duo. He leaned against the open door, his gaze thoughtful. Chowder used the opportunity to sneak into the laundry room to have a drink of water. For a while, Heero gazed thoughtfully at his pet.

"I was too harsh on you earlier," he spoke quietly; "I had wrongfully taken my frustration out on you. It was unfair, and I apologize for it."

For a moment, Duo was dumbfounded, simply unable to fathom a reason for Heero to apologize to him, not while his dream still lurked dangerously under the surface of his rational mind. 

When he saw that Duo wasn't responding, Heero continued. "I held you responsible for something that is much bigger than you. I must have upset you and for that I apologize."

It took Duo a moment longer to find his voice and form a reply. "I don't get it," he finally said, frowning, "You held me responsible for what?"

"It doesn't matter," Heero said calmly; he briefly shifted his gaze away before looking back at Duo. "I wasn't feeling very well and I misspoke."

"You mean 'bout not being friends?" Duo asked, suddenly hopeful that he had self-flagellated for nothing. However the feeling only lasted for a split second before the heavy feeling resettled on his shoulders. Duo cast his gaze down, ashamed.

"No, Heero, you were right," he spoke shamefully, "I wasn't much of a friend to you and I realize that now. You had every right to say what you did. And as for the others..." he added in a miserable whisper, now staring at the floor. "I think I was the worst outta them all. I dunno what you think 'bout 'em but I know that I deserve the worst of your resentment." He looked up at Heero again, his cobalt eyes hurt and hopeful at the same time. "I don't mind being the scapegoat. You deserve some closure."

There was an awkward silence after Duo was done speaking. He stood stiffly, looking apprehensively up at Heero, afraid to see how he would react.

Heero too seemed unsure of how he should respond. He adjusted his eyeglasses and shifted his gaze aside uncomfortably, staring silently at Chowder which was loudly gulping down water from its bowl. He stared at his pet, deep in thought.

Chowder finished drinking and softly padded out of the laundry room. Heero's gaze followed the dog before turning to look at Duo. His blue eyes shimmered softly under the high-noon light pouring into the small laundry room.

"Please don't feel that you have to hide in here because you're uncomfortable in my presence," he asked and Duo wanted to just _die_ right there and then. Heero was being his damned old self: he was shouldering his burden for him the way he had always done, offering him his forgiveness when Duo didn't even feel that he came close to deserving it.

"I'll be in the living room with Adriel," Heero added quietly and turned back to the door. "You are welcomed to join us when you are ready."

Somehow, Duo managed to nod a response, numbly acknowledging Heero's words. He was barely aware of the man leaving the laundry room. He remained standing by the window and buried his face in his hands, feeling small and lost, unable to sort through the clutter in his head. Terrified and betrayed by his traitorous mind, Duo reached for his cross, clutching it tightly. 

_ Shit, God... please don't lemme slip again. Don't lemme end up hurting Heero like I—  _ A heavy barrier creaked and snapped, plummeting down forcefully. Its heavy crash echoed loudly within Duo's mind. The blockade would not allow him to finish his train of thought. Duo supposed that it was for the best; he didn't want to think about  _ that _ right now. It was enough that he was having morbid dreams about it. He was pretty sure that he was going insane too. The last thing he needed was to add to his troubled mind by vividly recalling the crime he had committed.

*             *             *

Duo stayed in the laundry room to finish another smoke, and then another and then another, trying to calm his frayed nerves. When he was done with a third cigarette, he finally worked up the courage to walk back towards the living room.

Heero was sitting by his home office under the window, typing away into his computer. Adriel was sitting on the living room floor, playing a videogame. As Duo walked into the living room, Heero spun his office-chair around to acknowledge him. In return, Duo offered him a faltering smile to indicate that everything was fine, even while he still felt like he was losing control over his mind.

Heero resumed his work on the computer. Duo noticed that the screen display was enlarged to about 200% zoom-in view and yet Heero was still hunched close to the screen as though he had difficulty to see the writing. He adjusted his black eyeglasses, narrowed his eyes at the screen and then looked closely at the keyboard before he resumed typing.

Frowning, Duo took a seat on the sofa and studied Heero quietly, taking in every curve of the young man's profile as he leaned to the side to leaf through some notes. Heero's simple gray T-shirt and bright blue denim jeans clung to his flesh as he moved, accenting his skinny frame. Duo watched Heero run a hand to push his long bangs up nonchalantly as he typed, which drew Duo's attention to his skinny arms. He found that he missed the taut muscular arms Heero had once possessed. He felt as though the person before him was only a shadow of the soldier he had once admired. The thought saddened him and he looked away, turning to face the little boy sitting on the hardwood floor under the television, completely absorbed in his video game.

Looking down at the top of the boy's head, studying his smooth black hair and his childish little face, Duo suddenly felt very angry with Heero. There was just something in the boy that infuriated Duo beyond rational reason. He was so furious that he could actually draw out his jackknife and slit the boy's throat just to spite Heero; just so he could punish Heero for caring for the boy!

"So," he called out in his friendliest tone of voice, trying to distract his mind from gruesome thoughts. "What'cha playin'?"

The squirt shrugged. "A game," he mumbled, too busy pressing the controllers to give a more substantial reply. The response reminded Duo of a certain blue-eyed teenager he once knew. He turned to watch the large TV hanging on the wall and his eyes widened in shock when he saw a fighting game featuring two mobile suits bashing each other up. The suits weren't of any model he was familiar with, but their design was obvious enough. 

" _ Holy crap! _ Are those  _ Gundams?! _ " 

Adriel nodded eagerly as his fingers worked the controllers expertly. "Yeah, that's the new one. _ Everyone's _ playing it," he explained as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

"No shit," Duo muttered, frowning at the screen. "Which one are ya?" 

"The yellow one," the squirt mumbled as on the screen a yellow and dark-blue Gundam drew out a huge green saber beam sword and sliced a black Gundam with a scythe in two. A title flashed, declaring  _ 'YOU WIN' _ . 

Duo grimaced and looked away.

"Can you believe this shit?" he turned to ask Heero, who was still busy working on his computer.

"Sure he can!" Adriel chirped. "Hiro helped program this game!" he declared proudly. "I helped too! The yellow one was my idea! It's the same colors as Club América! See?"

"Good God..." Duo exhaled in sigh, shaking his head in disbelief. "That's fucked up."

"The money was good," Heero stated dryly, shrugging. He leaned closer to his computer monitor, adjusting his eyeglasses by pushing them up the bridge of his nose. 

Watching Heero, Duo briefly wondered whether the squirt had picked up the shrugging gesture from Heero, or the other way around. There were just too many infuriating similarities between the two. Duo had to consciously control his breathing or else he would burst with fury.

He turned back to the kid. "Say, squirt, this thing got multiplayer?" 

Adriel hurried to throw Duo a second controller. "Sure," he said, grinning. "You haffta choose one." 

Naturally, Duo chose the Gundam most similar to his old buddy 'Scythe. Adriel smirked, shaking his head in an all-knowing manner. His lengthy black bowl-cut hair bounced and twisted around his head as he shook it. Duo had to admit that it was  _ almost _ cute, but it just made him want to smack the boy's head even harder.

"That one's the  _ worse! _ " Adriel laughed when Duo picked the black Gundam. "It doesn't even have a  _ gun! _ " 

"We'll see 'bout that," Duo grumbled, "You're goin'  _ down _ squirt!" he threatened playfully as he flexed his hands on the controls. He actually felt as though he was going into battle against the brat and even the promise of a virtual fight managed to lift his spirit. In some twisted way, he rationalized that beating the kid in a virtual match would somehow mean that he was more worthy than the stupid brat. The satisfaction of kicking his little snotty ass in a game would be the closest he could get to actually bashing the kid for being more important to Heero than he was.

"Get ready to get your ass kicked,  _ squirt, _ " Duo snarled and the match began.

Heero turned his desk-chair around to look at the virtual battle waging on the screen. He leaned back into his chair, folded his arms over his chest and watched the game intently. There was a dark and brooding look in his eyes as he stared hard at Duo's almost manic expression. A taut string of high alertness stretched between the two young men. One was highly aware of the other watching him and the tension grew with each passing minute. Adriel wasn't affected by the wary atmosphere. He seemed to be enjoying the game, especially since Duo wasn't faring very well. The child's virtual winged Gundam smashed Duo's scythed Gundam to the ground and ran a saber sword through his back.

A  **'YOU'RE DEAD'** title flashed on Duo's side of the screen.

"This is  _ bullshit! _ " he exclaimed angrily, "This shit ain't working right! The moves are all wrong!" 

"It's just a game, Duo," Heero reminded him, "It doesn't have to abide to the laws of physics."

"Yeah, well, I woulda expected you'd at least stick with the  _ basics! _ This shit's  _ fucked up! _ No Gundam can move like that! I'm being beaten by a freaking  _ two-year-old! _ " 

"Hey! I'm almost  _ seven! _ " The boy called and an angry pout twisted his little face.

"Whatever. I wanna rematch!" Duo muttered and hit the 'rematch' button forcefully.

Once again the winged and scythed Gundams were ready to do battle on the screen.

Sighing, Heero shook his head at Duo's childish behavior and spun his desk-chair back to face the computer. He resumed his work while Duo and Adriel continued playing, but glanced agitatedly in Duo's direction every now and then. His posture was tense and alert as he worked on the computer, highly tuned in on Duo's every move, ready to protect Adriel if necessary.

Duo didn't let it show, but he had picked up on Heero's wariness of him. Smirking to himself, he inched closer to the boy and felt the already tight string of high vigilance between Heero and him stretch so tautly it would have snapped if it were tangible. He smirked darkly, but deep down it hurt him to know that Heero felt that he needed to protect the child from him. He allowed that hurt to further fuel his anger towards the boy. He became fiercer and more resentful and he channeled all of it into the game, frantically pressing the controllers, jumping up to his feet as if waging a real fight, cussing loudly and shouting at the screen as though he was back in 'Scythe's cockpit until suddenly – the screen went black.

Stunned to the point of numbness, Duo stared at the blank screen. Slowly, he shifted his gaze aside and saw Heero standing by the coffee table, the remote control in his hand. There was a menacing glare in his Prussian blue eyes as he stared Duo down from behind a pair of black eyeglasses.

Heero's harsh glare was powerful enough to pin Duo violently back into reality. Gradually, he came back to his senses and put his hand down numbly, letting go of the controller. It fell to the floor with a noisy clatter. Casting his gaze down, he saw Adriel sitting on the floor at his feet, gaping at him with wide and almost frightened hazel eyes.

Caught between the two gazes, Duo shuddered inwardly. He coughed to clear his throat and took a step back, bumping into the sofa; he thought he actually felt his rational mind jolt back to life at the bump.

"I, uh..." he mumbled, but he really didn't have anything more intelligible to say. He dared to look up at Heero and felt as though he was hitting a solid wall when he was faced with the man's threatening glare.

"Maybe you should go for a smoke and calm down," Heero suggested with a low, composed and stern tone which was neither a suggestion nor a request. "You've had enough videogames for one day."

Duo swallowed hard, unable to tear his gaze away from Heero's intense blue eyes staring him down angrily.

"Yeah, 'kay," he blurted over the lump in his throat. Slowly, he turned around and looked down at the boy sitting by the sofa, still looking at him with shock.

"Sorry squirt," he mumbled, "Got too excited."

The boy offered him a numb, stunned, nod as a response. Sighing, Duo hurried to leave the living room and head for the sanctuary of the laundry room. He could feel the boy's confused eyes following him, along with another, much fiercer, blue gaze.

*             *             *

**To be continued in Chapter 04: Crime:**

"Fuck, Heero!" Duo exclaimed angrily. "You think I _chose_ this?! You think I wanted to get so fucked up I couldn't even tell if it's my own voice talking inside my head?!"

\---

"Duo?!" Marissa's head snapped up and her gazed shot up to the man on the sofa. Her eyes were wide, stunned even. She then narrowed them as her features darkened scornfully.

\---

Slowly, moving one frantic heartbeat at a time, Duo leaned down. He allowed himself a moment to simply hover an inch above the Heero's parted lips, basking in the warm halo of his shallow breath. He licked his lips hungrily, his breath shortening with anticipation. He was going to do it. He was going to make Heero _his_...

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:**  
>  Is anyone reading this? If the answer is 'yes' then I would love to hear your thoughts on this so far. I know this story takes a (long) while to build up, but I hope it's still interesting enough to read.  
> And while you wait for the next chapter, please feel free to also check out my novel-length 1x2 thriller: **Left Unsaid**.  
>  Also, check out the **[graphic teaser](https://www.dropbox.com/s/qff0rm9c068un6p/One%20Week%20Trailer.pdf?dl=0)** I made for this story.  
>  Elle


	6. Chapter 04: Crime

**One Week - Part 6/20**

**Chapter 04: Crime**

 

His cigarette box was still resting on the laundry room's windowsill as Duo entered the small room. Lighting up a smoke, he leaned over the window and gazed down at the small public yard surrounded by the block's residential buildings. A few children were playing on the grass while one mother waved a baseball cap at one of them, yelling at him to wear a hat. An old woman was walking her stupid furry white Poodle, waiting for the damn thing to poop.

Duo hated dogs. He couldn't stand it how people thought  _ they _ were the dog's master while in fact they were the ones who had to pick up after their pet when it took a fucking dump. He  _ loathed _ the damn canines. He was certain that the arrogant bitches were aware of that irony and thought they were so fucking supreme.

Drawing smoke from his cigarette, Duo released it with a long sigh and let his shoulders slump tiredly. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Chowder's bowls of food and water next to his comfy-looking dog bed. It pissed  _ the Hell _ out of him. The only kind of connection between a bed and a dog he was willing to tolerate was the "doggy style" position and that was it.

_ Da fuck does a dog need a bed anyway? _ He mused cynically;  _ I'm human and I spent most of my life sleeping in the gutter. Da fuck does a dog deserve a bed and I don't? _

He  _ despised _ dogs! Why, how many times had he had to fight with a dog over a meal in some filthy alley while growing up on the streets of L2? How many times had he lost not only his meal but also his very  _ humanity _ to those dame beasts? People let stray dogs into their homes, fed them and cleaned them and showered them with affection, but no one ever took a miserable glance his way – a dirty little orphan living on the merciless street of L2. It pissed him off to see how Heero treated both a damn dog and a bratty kid with so much affection, but still could barely tolerate him – an old war buddy!

Heero made him feel like he was some kind of nuisance or a menace. His plan was to get on Heero's good side again and lure the man back into their friendship. He never expected being forced to compete for Heero's attention against a damn dog and some annoying next-door-neighbor brat who beat him in stupid videogames!

Things were not working out as he had planned and Duo was rarely able to handle matters that spun out of his control. He had lost that ability at around the same time he had lost his mind. The solution he could come up with to solve his frustrating problems was either to fight or flee. Even after years of therapy in prison, the best he could do was try keeping his anger at bay and  _ grovel _ .

The laundry room's door opened gently and Duo heaved a long sigh.

_ And once again – here comes the groveling part, _ he thought bitterly as he listened to Heero step into the room and close the door behind him silently.

Taking a deep breath to calm the rage swirling and sizzling in the pits of his stomach, Duo slowly turned around to face Heero. The man was standing in front of the closed door, his arms folded across his chest and a stern scrutinizing gaze gleaming coldly in his Prussian blue eyes.

"Listen man," Duo exhaled with a sigh, resigning to his fate as a pathetic idiot and preparing to apologize once again for being a complete  _ douche bag _ .

"I'm sorry abou—"

"Stop apologizing, Duo," Heero cut in, clearly annoyed. "That's all you've done since you got here."

"Yeah, I know," Duo sighed when in fact he was seconds from simply snapping with anger. Since Heero couldn't possibly appreciate his efforts to keep his cool, Duo had no other choice but to add another useless: "Sorry 'bout that too."

It was Heero's turn to sigh. He studied Duo lengthily, keeping his hands folded over his chest in a stern and rigid posture.

"Duo," he finally spoke, keeping his voice low and calm; "I don't mean to overstep my boundaries, but... are you getting any help?"

"Help?" Duo repeated dumbly and fished another cigarette out of the box. He knew exactly where Heero was heading. He threw the cigarette into his mouth and caught it between his lips. "Ya mean like a shrink?" he muffled between pressed lips as he lit up the cigarette.

Heero gave a slow and careful nod of his head. "Yes."

Skillfully catching the burning cigarette between two fingers, Duo pulled it out of his mouth and blew out a long stream of smoke in Heero's way. The man didn't show it, but he was displeased with the cigarette smoke being blown in his face; Duo noted the slight twitching of his lips.

"Uhm, no, not right now. Costs too damn much," he answered Heero's question and then turned to him with a dark smirk. "Why? Do I look like I need one?"

Heero seemed hesitant to say. Slowly, he let his arms down more casually.

"I might not have the right to say this," he said, "but I think that you might—"

"Be seriously  _ disturbed? _ " Duo completed the sentence for him.

Heero sighed. "I didn't say that."

"Yeah, but you were thinking it  _ loud 'n clear _ ," he muttered, rolling his eyes. Taking another drag on his smoke, Duo turned back to face the window. He leaned over the windowsill, gazing down thoughtfully at the yard.

"Yanno Heero, not  _ everyone _ got to live this  _ fucking picture-perfect  _ life you got goin' on here. Fuck, but life's been an even  _ bigger _ bitch to me since the war ended. I know I'm fucked up, alright? But it ain't your job to chew me out for shit no more, got it?"

He turned around, glaring at Heero with a pair of furious cobalt eyes. "I ain't no one's bitch but my own. Don't be treating me like you're some big somebody. You're  _ nobody _ now, just like everyone else. You and me buddy, we're on equal grounds now. You can't talk shit to me no more and I ain't apologizing to you no more!"

Heero didn't seem the least fazed by Duo's strong language and harsh words. He stood still for a moment, thinking, before calmly giving Duo his reply.

"You're right," he said quietly. "Perhaps I don't have the right, I probably never had, but I can tell you that life hasn't been easy for me either. I don't pretend to know what it's been like for you, but I will tell you this: we were handed our lives back when the war ended. We were given the right to choose for ourselves."

"Fuck, Heero!" Duo exclaimed angrily. "You think I  _ chose _ this?! You think I  _ want _ to be so fucked up I couldn't even tell if it's my own voice talking inside my head?! You think I  _ wanted  _ this? I didn't choose any of this shit! It just  _ happened! _ "

"You had the choice to fight it," Heero responded harshly, clearly upset. His voice was hard, angry. His hands balled into fists and he stared Duo down with barely suppressed rage. There was a haunted, tortured look in his eyes that made Duo wonder whether Heero was taking the issue a bit  _ too _ personally. But why should he? He had no right to preach him!

"You could have done  _ something _ ," Heero continued sternly, "but you chose to give up the fight," he finished with a resentful accusation. "You let it happen. You  _ chose _ to give in to..." he sighed, shaking his head before he evened his condemning gaze with Duo's. "You have no one to resent but yourself."

"Ain't that what's God for?" Duo muttered sarcastically. He drew more smoke from his cigarette and turned back to face the window, turning his back to Heero.

"I don't believe in God, but if I did, it wouldn't be for the sole purpose of blaming him for my misfortune."

"Then you don't know what you're missing."

"You are a very bitter man, Duo Maxwell."

"Ya think?" Duo snorted; "Faith is for the bitter, and I'm as sour as they come."

"I thought you were raised to believe otherwise."

"Da fuck you know how I was raised!" Duo retorted angrily, whirling around to glower at Heero. "I know all about the  _ rewards _ people get for their blind faith in  _ God _ . I know better, I know how to bargain for what I need."

"Feel free to believe as you wish," Heero responded calmly, "but I think that faith is about hope, not resentment, and definitely not about bargaining."

"If you don't believe in God then don't preach me 'bout what the  _ son-of-a-bitch _ is all about," Duo snapped angrily. "I'll do what I  _ fucking _ want with  _ my _ faith and  _ my _ God. I'll diss that  _ damn no-good two-timing bastard _ all I  _ FUCKING  _ want!" He shoved the cigarette angrily back to his mouth, glaring at Heero, daring him to comment on his belief or behavior again. If the man was shocked by his unusually disrespectful behavior, he did nothing to show it. Heero's features remained calm.

"Fine, Duo, if that's what comforts you, do as you wish. However, if you misbehave in front of Adriel one more time, I will not wait for this week to end before I kick you out of here."

With that said Heero turned around and left the laundry room, closing the door behind him. Duo snarled angrily at the door and then snorted cheekily. He turned back to face the window, glaring angrily at the burning cigarette in his hand.

"Fuck you man," he muttered and stubbed out the cigarette butt forcefully against the windowsill, glaring at the dark ashes splattering around it.

"Damn  _ saint _ ."

*             *             *

Three more cigarettes and over an hour later, Duo felt calm (and reasonable) enough to finally step out of the utility room without the danger of snapping violently at anyone. Putting his infamous joker-mask on, a mask he had no need to wear for years, he stepped out into the kitchen. Both Heero and his pet occupied the neat and narrow room; Heero stood by the stove, cooking, while Chowder stood at the center of the room, wagging its tail.

The damn beast was the first to acknowledge Duo as he re-entered the kitchen. The large Golden Retriever turned its head to glance curiously at the man but Duo paid it no heed; his attention was focused solely on Heero standing by the stove, stirring something in a steaming pot. The other man had yet to notice his exit from the laundry room.

Turning to his left Duo saw Adriel was still standing in front of the large flat screen TV, using a state-of-the-art Wii console to play baseball against an opposing team on the computer. Unlike Heero, the child did turn to look in Duo's way and much to Duo's dismay was the second one to acknowledge him when all he really cared about was gaining Heero's attention. Seeing Duo's harsh expression, the child shifted his gaze away from the man's resentful cobalt eyes.

Chowder barked once, demanding Heero's attention, or perhaps even warning its owner that Duo was looking at Adriel. At the sound of Chowder's barking Heero finally turned to Duo.

The two young men gazed at each other intensely. The air seemed to simmer around them as tension built up to an uncomfortable level. Eventually, after what felt like a lifetime, Heero tore his gaze away. He turned back to the stove and stirred the dish thoughtfully, refraining from speaking.

Heero's temperance was something Duo could handle, something he was used to. He was rather grateful that Heero chose not to say anything more after their conversation in the laundry room. Duo knew that he acted like a jerk, but he was tired of apologizing; he was thankful that Heero didn't demand any more apologies from him. 

He took another step into the kitchen. A noticeable cloud of cigarette stench surrounded him, clinging to his baggy black tank top and shorts, which earned him a short malcontent glance from Heero. Duo smirked. He enjoyed when people wordlessly criticized his excessive smoking. Smoking was an almost extinct habit in the AC era, usually associated with slum populations. Everyone smoked on L2. There were times when there was nothing to eat on the colony, but there was always a flowing supply of cigarettes, drugs and liquor. The people on L2 depended on those substances more than they depended on food in order to survive.

Cigarettes singled Duo out from the horde. They were a habit that marked him as an individual of a specific background; a background he felt proud of, despite stigma and prejudice. He felt powerful knowing that those who didn't approve of him preferred to keep their mouths shut about his nasty and unpopular habit, simply because they knew better than to mess with an _L2_ _punk_. Seeing that Heero also knew better than to say something about how he was stinking up his kitchen raised a strong dominant feeling in Duo's chest. He inhaled deeply, relishing in the empowering sensation.

"Making lunch?" he asked as he approached Heero, speaking so casually that one could clearly hear the false friendliness in his tone. He placed his hands behind his back carelessly, folding his palms together as he approached the stove. Heero turned to open the cupboard above him and retrieved three plates. He said nothing.

"Smells good," Duo commented calmly and leaned forward to look into the pot. "That the stew from this morning?" he asked as he examined the boiling dish, which looked nothing like the reddish-brown stew he had seen the squirt's mother hand to Heero that morning; for one thing, the boiling dish was creamy and _ green _ .

Placing the plates on the kitchen bar, Heero turned to him with a frown. "What stew?" he asked, bemused.

His confusion managed to baffle Duo as well. For a moment he just stared at Heero, waiting for the man to realize on his own to what stew he had been referring to, but it soon became obvious that Heero couldn't figure out what he was talking about, for he just kept staring at Duo blankly.

"Did I mention I'll be making stew?" Heero pushed his eyeglasses up the bridge of his nose uneasily.

"Uhm no," Duo replied with a wary frown, "I meant the one that broad made ya."

Heero resumed arranging the table.

"I decided it wouldn't be enough for the three of us," he mumbled an excuse and Duo's frown deepened. He found it hard to believe Heero's words. He could tell that the young man still couldn't recall the stew Adriel's mother made and he was trying to hide it. However he decided to give Heero the benefit of the doubt and nodded his head.

"Makes sense," he shrugged and turned back to examine the pot. "So what cha makin'? And why is it  _ green _ ?"

"It's green chicken curry," Heero explained and pulled out three drinking glasses from the cupboard.

"Nice," Duo muttered as he leaned to sniff the steam rising from the pot. "Smells spicy," he frowned suddenly, thinking. "I thought spicy foods give you heartburn."

"When have I  _ ever _ said such a thing?" Heero grumbled defensively.

"Hmm, you're right. Coulda been someone else," Duo mumbled and dipped a finger into the bubbling dish. He tasted the green gravy, noting that it wasn't piquant as he had guessed. It made sense, because he just  _ knew _ that hot foods didn't sit well with Heero. He didn't know why he was so certain of it, because they never dined together on anything of the sorts back in the days, but he just knew and by Heero's self-justifying reaction, he was right.

"Adriel won't eat it if it's spicy," Heero muttered an excuse and turned to put the drinking glasses on the kitchen bar. It was then that Duo noticed that Heero had arranged the seating differently than at breakfast; now there were two bar-chairs facing the living room while a single chair – the one Duo had used so far – was standing alone on the living room's side, isolated from the other two. Duo scowled, knowing that unlike at breakfast, Heero now expected him to sit alone while Adriel sat with him, where it was ' _ safe' _ .

He resented the new arrangement but kept his mouth shut about it. Slowly, moving with the elegance of a predator, he made his way around the kitchen bar and took a seat on the lone chair on the other side.

Heero's eyes followed his every move cautiously.

Settling down on the tall bar chair, Duo reached for a knife Heero had placed at the side of his plate, picked it up and examined it as if to make sure that it was clean. He could feel Heero watching him closely, his eyes narrowing with distrust. He smirked inwardly, a dark cynical look shining in his eyes.

The simple butter knife hardly seemed dangerous, but Duo still enjoyed observing the way the light from the living room window caught on its surface, making the silvery metal gleam. He turned the knife in an angle which allowed him to see Adriel's reflection, standing by the TV, absorbed in his video game.

Shifting his glance up, he pinned Heero's gaze spitefully, daring him to speak his mind.

Heero stared back, his blue eyes cautious but hardly stern; he seemed somewhat at a loss, perhaps even upset. _ Hiro's _ expressions were so easy to read now!

The young man didn't say anything, choosing to ignore the subtext behind Duo's actions with the knife. He simply stood there – like a perfect prey – looking intently at Duo, assessing the danger.

Smiling smugly, Duo placed the butter knife down. He arranged it neatly by his plate and looked at Heero again, still smiling.

"Time to eat?" he asked innocently, his eyes gleaming with dark mischief.

Heero's blank expression turned into a deep scowl. He continued gazing pensively at Duo, clearly troubled by his actions.

"Adriel," he called while watching Duo closely, "Lunch is ready." He pulled out the chair he was standing by. "Come eat."

"Just a second!" Adriel called and scored another goal in his game. "YES!" he jumped happily, roaring like a stadium crowd.

"Adriel," Heero called impatiently.

"Okay,  _ okay! _ I'm  _ coming _ already! Geez!" the child muttered and dropped his video game console. He ran to the kitchen; as he passed by Duo's chair, the child slowed his pace down and locked his apprehensive eyes on the tall young man, looking at him warily as he treaded carefully around the kitchen bar, towards Heero.

Duo rolled his eyes and looked away. He told himself that he couldn't care less if the boy thought he was a  _ creep _ , but deep down it angered him. It angered him because it  _ hurt; _ it hurt to know that he could never have the affection Heero felt for Adriel.

Silently watching the boy's reaction to Duo, Heero gestured at the chair next to him and motioned the child to come sit by his side. Adriel climbed on the tall bar chair, keeping his eyes on Duo the whole time. Heero placed his hand on the boy's small shoulder, wordlessly assuring him that he was safe. Still, Duo could tell that Heero's eyes spoke differently from his action; his hand offered the boy comfort while his eyes were still troubled, still guarded.

Holding back from snorting crudely, Duo cleared his throat instead and straightened in his seat. He gave the boy a big fake smile, allowing the joker mask to speak for him.

"Hey, squirt, you can relax, okay? I don't bite, 'specially not when I'm just about to have ma lunch," he said in his friendliest fake tone, keeping his eyes on Heero instead of at the boy as he spoke. For Heero's sake, he was going to play nice, at least for now.

"I was just kidding' with ya back then. Don't tell me you freaked because of our little  _ game. _ "

"No I _ didn't! _ " the dark haired boy protested immediately, defending his honor. "I didn't freak out –  _ you _ did!" He turned to look up at the man standing by his side. "Right, Hiro?"

After keeping the tense eye contact with Duo for a few more seconds, Heero turned to the boy. "Right," he confirmed and Adriel turned, smirking, and stuck his tongue out at Duo.

"See?" he said haughtily.

Duo rolled his eyes. "Fine, squirt, whatever."

"Adriel, go wash your hands before we eat."

"What are we having?" the boy asked as he jumped off the bar chair and walked to the kitchen sink.

"Green Curry," Heero replied and limped over to the stove to tend the dish.

The little boy washed his hands, frowning at Heero. "But mom made that stew I like."

"It wasn't enough," Heero grunted rather irately.

Adriel shook his head in an all-knowing manner. He walked back to the kitchen bar and climbed on his chair.

"Hiro always forgets stuff," he informed Duo, amused. However the moment he met Duo's stern expression the pleased gleam in the boy's eyes vanished. Falling silent, the child bowed his head to avoid the harsh glare.

"Oh yeah?" Duo muttered nonetheless, continuing the false pretense of a friendly conversation.

"Yeah," Adriel raised his head again, hesitant as he spoke, unsure if Duo was resentful or friendly. "One time he was supposed to pick me up after soccer practice but he forgot."

Duo snorted in response while his insides burned with furious envy.

"I didn't forget," Heero muttered as he brought the steaming pot to the kitchen bar and placed on a hot pad. "I was late." He took a ladle and began serving the green curry.

"Mom said you forgot," Adriel informed him smugly.

"Well she said wrong. I didn't forget, my car broke down," Heero insisted as he placed a plate full of steaming green chicken curry in front of Adriel. "Eat quietly."

"Remember when you rented that same movie  _ twice? _ You forgot then too," Adriel grinned teasingly, his passionate hazel eyes shining with mirth. Duo gave out a mocking snigger.

Sighing, Heero placed Duo's dish on the table and served himself a portion as well.

"So I did," he muttered as he finally sat down to eat, ignoring Duo's mocking gaze. "All those movies look alike."

"And the time you thought your car got stolen but you actually lost it in the parking lot?" The boy was grinning as he spoke, clearly enjoying teasing the older man. "That was so funny! We got stuck at the mall after dark!"

"You remember that?" Heero marvel; "You were only four."

The boy shrugged. "It was the first time I rode the subway," he explained plainly.

"Man, you and Heero go way back, huh?" Duo cut in, waving his knife up and down casually, though the cold gleam in his eyes was far from carefree. 

"Yeah," Adriel shrugged, "Hiro's around a lot."

"We've been neighbors since Adriel was two years old," Heero explained.

"That's when we moved outta my abuelita's house after my dad died," Adriel mumbled gloomily as he played with his food, poking it around with his fork.

"How did he die?" Duo asked skeptically.

"Uhm," the boy mumbled and looked up, frowning as though he was trying to recall the answer to that question. "I forgot," he finally shrugged; "Maybe he was sick? I was really little so I don't know."

"Do you remember what he looked like?" Duo pried some more and the boy's frowned deepened as he tried to recall.

"Uhm... no," he confessed. The boy was beginning to look a little upset. Picking up on the child's distress, Heero intervened.

"That's enough," he warned, but Duo ignored him. His attention was focused solely on the puzzled little boy sitting in front of him.

"Well don't you have any pictures of him?" he asked arrogantly.

"No," Adriel admitted with a small voice; he scratched his little head, troubled. "I never saw any. Maybe mom lost 'em."

"Them," Heero corrected. "Maybe she  _ had lost them _ ," he emphasized slowly.

Adriel rolled his eyes. "Kids don't haffta talk like that, yanno."

"By whose order?" Heero questioned; "I expect that kind of  _ Ghetto talk  _ from Duo, but not from you."

"That's not  _ Ghetto talk! _ That's just how kids talk, right?" he turned to Duo for confirmation, but the man just shrugged callously, not caring much for the boy's argument.

"Fuck me if I know," he grumbled; "I come from a damn L2 Ghetto 'n _ Grammar Nazi _ over here just can't get 'nough of  _ dissin' da way I talk _ ;" he muttered bitterly, emphasizing his Southern accent just for good measure.

"Yeah, but I'm not as bad as you are," the child pointed out smugly and Duo rolled his eyes, annoyed.

"You can still do better," Heero rebuked; "You don't impress anyone with your  _ Bad English _ . Try setting an example by speaking properly."

" _ Fine _ ," the child muttered insolently; "I'll just talk like  _ you _ do and get beat up at school!" He taunted and Duo couldn't help the loud chuckle/snort that broke out of his mouth.

"So," Duo decided to continue pestering the boy. There was a haughty smile on his face as he spoke nastily. "You don't even know what your old man looked like?" he remarked arrogantly. "Do you at least know his  _ name? _ "

"Duo, that's enough," Heero cut in again, obviously unhappy with where the conversation was going.

Adriel frowned. "I, uh... I don't think I remember. I guess I just called him Papí. Maybe Papá, I dunno. I can't remember. Why do you wanna know so much about my dad?"

"Yes Duo, that would be enough of your useless questions," Heero warned again.

"C'mon guys, _ relax! _ I'm just making conversation!"

"Mi tío—uh, my uncle Pedro says my daddy wasn't around much. I guess he was busy working or something," the boy shrugged carelessly. "But I think maybe my mom doesn't keep any pictures of him cuz it makes her sad to remember my dad," Adriel tried to reason. "Maybe she doesn't talk about him so she won't be sad," he turned to Heero, waiting for the man's approval of his assumption.

"That is a very wise thing to say, Adriel," Heero complimented the child with an approving nod of his head and the boy smiled, reassured.

Duo rolled his eyes in an ' _ oh please!'  _ gesture and in return Heero glared at him coldly; a warning not to continue upsetting the boy. Turning to the little _ squirt _ , Duo sent him an apologetic look, as honest as a crook's regret could be.

"Listen, squirt, I'm sorry if I say things that upset you," he told the boy. "I guess the war messed me up pretty bad, yanno? I tend to forget people have feelings too."

"The _ war? _ " The child's curiosity was immediately piqued. "You mean the one Missus Persse told us about?"

"I guess," Duo shrugged carelessly; "What other war was there?"

The child's face lit up with wonder and awe. "You fought in  _ that _ war?!" he marveled, jumping up and down excitedly. "You mean with all the Mobile Suits and the  _ Gundams?! _ "

"Uh, yeah," Duo muttered, "Mobile Suits 'n Gundams. Lots of 'em. Sure."

" _ Cool! _ You saw 'em for  _ real?! _ "

"I, uh, yeah. Actually I—"

"He saw them on TV," Heero cut in harshly, sending Duo a dangerous glare. "Isn't that right, Duo?"

"Oh yeah, yeah, sure. On TV," he confirmed, nodding excessively; his lie as transparent as glass. "That's where I saw 'em. Mobile Suits 'n Gundams, sure, all the time."

"But you still fought, right? With the saber-beams and the beam-cannons— like in the game, right?"

"War is not a game, Adriel," Heero admonished coolly. "And we were far too young to fight." It wasn't a lie, Duo noted, but it wasn't the truth either.

Adriel's eyes filled with disappointment. "How young? Like I'm right now?"

Heero shook his head. "If you would have completed your math assignments for this summer, you would have known how to calculate our age during the war."

The boy pouted grumpily, but paused to give the math question some thought. "Uhm, was it... ten?"

Heero shook his head and Duo let out a snigger/snort.

Adriel gave Duo a little childish glare/pout and turned back to Heero. "Okay, was it... twelve?"

"Adriel, you're guessing," Heero rebuked calmly; "Try calculating it instead. If we are twenty seven now, in AC 207, how old were we back in AC 195?"

"I dunno!" the boy whined helplessly. "Eight _? _ "

"You got a real  _ boy genius _ there, Heero," Duo sneered and the man sent him a short glare before turning back to the child.

"Adriel, you're not even trying," he scolded gently. "How much is two hundred and seven minus one hundred ninety five?"

" _ Not fair! _ " Adriel moaned in protest, "Those are really _ BIG _ numbers! I can only do the  _ little _ ones!"

"Then I'll give you half the answer," Heero offered; "how much is twenty seven minus twelve?"

" _ Hiro _ ..." the boy accused, "I'm just moving up to _ second _ grade. It's not fair to ask me about BIG numbers!"

"Fine," Heero sighed resignedly. "We'll work on it after lunch."

"This guy doesn't pull any punches does he, squirt?" Duo smirked at the boy. It was just like Heero to expect everyone to be as damn near perfect as he was!

"You better watch it squirt," he smirked at the child, "If you come to him with less than an 'A' on that assignment he's gonna kick your fucking ass to kingdom's co—"

"Duo," Heero cut in, his voice and expression cold and menacing. "Be quiet."

"I'm just sayin'—"

"Shut up," Heero warned harshly. He glared at Duo for a moment longer before turning to Adriel. "I would never ask that of you," he assured the boy earnestly.

"Yeah, I know," the child muttered and shrugged his shoulders carelessly.

Heero nodded approvingly. He placed his hand on the boy's little shoulder. "You do what you can, alright? I'll help you with the rest."

Adriel seemed uncomfortable with the sudden gravity of his words. "You're being all  _ weird _ ," he criticized snootily; "May I be excused now?"

Heero sighed and drew his hand back from the boy's small shoulder. He noted that the boy had barely touched his meal. "Sure," he approved nonetheless and the child hurried to jump off the bar stool and rush to the living room, back to his videogame.

"Scared him off, didn't I?" Duo muttered bitterly.

"Just eat your damn curry," Heero grunted and resumed eating. He focused solely on his plate, refusing to acknowledge Duo any longer. It made Duo feel kind of rotten. The damn child was driving a wedge between the two of them, spoiling his plans to befriend Heero quickly before the week would end.

*             *             *

After lunch, Heero sat down with Adriel by the kitchen bar and helped him with his math assignments. Duo remained in the living room to watch television, flipping through channels in pure mind-numbing boredom. Every now and then, his eyes shifted towards the adult and child, carefully studying the interaction between the two. Heero would lean closer to Adriel as he explained about one math problem or another and then he'd let the child try to solve it by himself. The little boy would reach to touch Heero's hand when he needed help solving a problem, gaining the man's attention in a most natural and casual way. Scowling resentfully, Duo turned back to face the television, trying to ignore an inconvenient yet obvious truth sitting by the kitchen bar.

The hours passed by unhurriedly and uneventfully. Soon after Adriel had finished his homework he began nagging Heero excessively about letting him take Chowder out for a walk. Shifting his glance between the piles of papers on his desk and the little boy, debating the issue with great displeasure, Heero finally succumbed to the boy's irksome pleas and accompanied him outside; Duo couldn't be bothered to join them. Heero returned less than a half hour later, followed by a very content Golden Retriever and a grinning little boy bouncing happily around him, chatting relentlessly.

Duo hoped the child would cease his constant nagging now that he had been appeased, but he soon found out that the small child was quite a handful. He was a bundle of energy, never sitting down for longer than a moment, unless the TV was on. Since Duo was hogging the remote, the child found little interest in what he was watching and instead he tried to keep himself entertained with stupid games. He decided that the polished hardwood floor was in fact a river of flowing magma which he was not allowed to step on no matter what. So, the squirt climbed on the furniture instead, moving around the apartment by bouncing from the armchair to the sofa, to the coffee table and then onto Heero who was sitting by his workstation under the window, engrossed in his work. Duo watched with mild amusement, blended with contempt, as the man calmly picked the child up by his narrow waist and, without even tearing his eyes off the screen, settled him down on the desk, before he resumed typing. It seemed that Adriel was no real bother to Heero; he was used to his playfulness.

Since Heero was already cooperating with his game, the squirt asked him to also move him to the kitchen bar, because he couldn't jump over the wide section of the magma river between the living room and kitchen. Duo was surprised to see Heero play along with the childish game. Still typing and keeping his gaze fixed on the computer monitor, he reminded Adriel that he too would drown and burn to death in the magma river. Adriel then informed Heero that they'd pretend that he was a rock floating in the river. Duo let out a short sarcastic snigger, which was quickly answered by a cold glare, before – much to Duo's surprise and resentment – Heero got up to play his role as a  _ rock _ . He left Adriel stranded on top of the kitchen bar – an island in a river of hot magma – and resumed his work. After a while the child got bored with sitting on the bar surface and jumped down, announcing that he was now invincible to burning lava!

Duo rolled his eyes and continued watching television, ignoring the annoyingly energetic little squirt. Soon Heero asked him to give the TV up for Adriel's sake, to keep the damn brat still for a while. He argued and Heero glared and in the end he surrendered and handed the remote to the pain-in-the-ass who so obviously had Heero in his little pocket.

As idiotic and loud cartoons began flashing colorfully on the screen in front of him, Duo retired to the laundry room to have a smoke. When he returned, the annoying little boy was still watching the damn cartoons while chatting excitedly with Heero. The man was still working on his computer, offering incoherent acknowledgements (mainly 'hn's and 'mmm's) to the boy's relentless chatter. Duo watched the scene, furious. It used to be  _ his _ job to bug Heero while he worked!

With nothing better to do, Duo had no choice but to take a seat in the living room. He chose to sit in the black leather armchair, away from the little boy sitting on the sofa. Still, Adriel soon turned his big hazel eyes towards him, catching on that Heero was busy and Duo wasn't. He nagged Duo with his useless babbling. He told Duo all about stuff he didn't care for, such as what the stupid cartoon playing on the TV was all about, what his friend Jimmy was doing at summer camp and how  _ bummed _ he was that he couldn't go to summer camp too, but it was okay because Hiro promised that he'll go next year and besides, he was used to being with Heero, because the man always took care of him after school, unless his grandmother came to pick him up from school, which he didn't like  _ at all _ because she wasn't as much fun as Heero was and she didn't take him out to eat burgers or let him watch TV and play because she always wanted him to do his homework and  _ read stuff _ and even if Heero told him to do his homework, at least he wasn't so pushy and he helped him because he knew a lot of stuff...

Continuing his endless stream of chatter, the squirt told Duo all about the stupid soccer team he liked, how his uncle Pedro liked it more than anything in the whole wide world and how much fun he has when his mom lets him come over on weekends to watch soccer with Heero, because it was more fun watching it on Heero's  _ huge _ TV than at his uncle Pedro's house, because uncle Pedro had a lot of annoying friends who smelled funny and made him eat stuff he didn't like. Besides, he had more fun in Heero's place and he even informed Duo that their (his and his mother's) apartment looked  _ just _ like Heero's only bigger because he had his own room, which was a very  _ cool _ room because Heero bought him his own TV and all his friends were jealous of him because he could play videogames and watch cable in his room!

By that point Duo felt like puking. What has the damn squirt ever done to deserve so much  _ stuff _ , so much love and affection _? _ When he was the brat's age, he was thankful if he had someplace warm to spend the night, or at least a lousy roll of weed to help him make it through the cold night on an empty stomach. No one ever showered him with so many precious things. No one had ever paid him half as much attention as the spoiled brat was getting from Heero. He didn't even know that the ex-pilot was capable of such... such... he couldn't even think of a proper word, because it simply wouldn't sound right when it came to Heero!  It wasn't fair; it just wasn't! He _ hated _ the damn squirt!

Angry, frustrated, envious and hurt, Duo ignored the boy and closed his eyes, pretending to have fallen asleep. He could still hear the annoying brat, though. The little squirt had finally turned to nag Heero again. Duo could not fall asleep and was forced to keep feigning slumber as he listened to the brat nag Heero to read him a book – "Horton Hears a Who". Heero pointed out that he had already read him that book many times before; however the squirt just kept on nagging, whining that it was his favorite book. Duo would have slapped the damn brat, but Heero handled it much better. Instead of surrendering to the boy's nagging and leaving his desk, Heero asked the child to read the book to him instead. Duo couldn't help but groan in frustration, betraying his alertness. He had to listen to the damn brat read the book out loud, so very slowly, stammering when he read big words. It must have been the most annoying experience he had had in his _ life _ . He struggled to tune out the child's annoying little voice before he would lose his temper and smack him over the head with the book until he saw blood!

At some point he managed to finally doze off on the uncomfortable leather armchair, snoring loudly. Then, at long last, the time was twenty past five and the doorbell buzzed frantically, waking Duo up.

Chowder was already waiting by the door when Heero went to answer it to greet Marissa. The Latin woman was dressed in her blue maid uniform, looking exhausted after a day's work. She gave Heero a polite nod and he returned the gesture. 

"Hello, Marissa. How was your day?" he inquired courteously. His voice sounded awkward, a bit  _ too _ well-mannered in Duo's mind, as though he was walking on eggshells – a trait which he refused to associate with Heero.

"Fine," Marissa muttered briskly. "Is my son ready to go?" She peeked into the apartment, looking around in search of Adriel. Her eyes soon spotted Duo sitting on the leather sofa and quickly narrowed with distrust. Her whole posture tensed. Her dark brown eyes focused on the large silver cross dangling over Duo's black tank top and she raised a hand up to reach for a necklace around her neck, clutching a delicate golden cross pendant which hung above her bountiful bosoms.

Duo's eyes narrowed dangerously. How dare she look at him like he was some piece of scum?

All the while, Adriel was sitting by the computer in Heero's workstation, playing an online game. Marissa turned to him, avoiding Duo's menacing eyes.

"Adriel," she called her son urgently, "ven aquí. Es hora de dejar. C'mon papí."

"But mamá! I'm winning!"

" _ Now _ , papí," she commanded impatiently, using a typical motherly authoritative tone. "Don't you dare keep me waiting," she added a warning, glancing cautiously at Duo. 

Heaving a dramatic little sigh, Adriel jumped off the desk-chair. He went to pick up his schoolbag from the kitchen bar and then ran towards his mother. The woman took the hefty bag from him and placed a protective hand over his shoulder.

"I made sure he's done with his math assignments," Heero informed her, sounding as though he was trying to please her somehow – which Duo didn't like one bit. He saw Marissa give Heero a short dismissive nod. She turned to her son with a skeptical frown.

"Did you solve the problems yourself or did you let Hiro do it for you?"

"He did it himself," Heero assured her, "I only helped."

"Yeah," the boy hurried to agree, "Hey, Mamá, did you know that Hiro and Duo were  _ fifteen _ during the war? And they saw  _ Gundams? _ "

"Duo?!" Marissa's head snapped up and her gazed shot up to the man on the sofa. Her eyes were wide, stunned even. She then narrowed them as her features darkened scornfully. "What—"

"He's Hiro's friend from outta town," Adriel informed her; "Yanno they saw the _real_ _Gundams_? Did you see any Gundams too mamá? How old were you back then?" Adriel piped curiously.

"Not old enough," she muttered and dismissed the question. She was glaring angrily at Heero.

"Why?" Adriel peeped, but Marissa ignored his question.

"Care to explain this?" she hissed coldly.

"I can't," Heero stated bluntly and Marissa rolled her eyes.

"Of course you can't," she muttered cynically; "Jesus, Hiro," she released an exasperated sigh and grabbed her son's chin tightly, turning his head left and right as she examined him carefully as though making sure that no harm had been done to him.

"Don't grab him like that," Heero protested and she silenced him with one glare. The sight angered Duo even more than her arrogance towards Heero. Still sitting on the armchair, he tensed, watching the woman with a shady scowl.

Adriel winced uncomfortably and tried to pull away from his mother's grip on his chin. "Hey! Cut it out! Mamá! Quit buggin' me!" he cried in annoyance and raised his little arms up to push her away.

Sighing, Marissa let go of the child and pulled her purse up, indicating that she was about to leave.

"Same time tomorrow?" Heero asked before she could walk away. 

"No, I don't think so," she replied curtly as she glanced harshly at Duo sitting on the sofa. Duo returned her fierce gaze with an equal one of his own. In turn, Marissa rested both her hands firmly over Adriel's little shoulders, pulling him closer to her lap as though to shield him from some unseen danger. Duo glared at her silently, but otherwise remained seated motionlessly on the sofa. 

Marissa turned back to Heero. "I'll ask my mother to do it."

"No!" Adriel protested loudly. "I dun wanna go to  _ grandma! _ "

"Then you'll have to come with me to work," Marissa warned irritably.

" _ Oh man! _ " the boy whined; "I  _ hate _ hanging around the hotel! It's so  _ boring!  _ Why can't I just stay with Hiro like always?"

"Yes," Heero agreed, "Why—"

"You know very well  _ why _ ," Marissa cut-in crudely as she sent Duo a harsh glare. When he glowered at her silently, she turned back to Heero again, ignoring him. Looking at Heero, Duo noted that the young man's expression had suddenly turned stony, numb.

Marissa pulled her purse up again, indicating her impatience and that she was ready to leave. "C'mon papí," she urged her son, "Say goodbye to Mister Nakasone."

Heero's shoulders visibly tensed at the sound of her cold voice calling him by his last name.

Duo's eyes flashed angrily.

The little boy looked up and sent Heero a cheeky smile. "Bye, Hiro," he mumbled dejectedly, shrugging his small shoulders sadly. He then turned to Duo and waved goodbye. "See ya, Duo," he added and Marissa seemed to stiffen even more. She took a step back, pulling Adriel with her.

"Later squirt," Duo waved casually at the boy, but glared at Marissa. To provoke her, he smiled friendly at her child. "Take good care of your momma 'kay?" 

"Yeah, okay," the boy mumbled and Marissa glared at Duo, who quickly pinned her harsh gaze with a ruthless glare of his own. 

Marissa hurried to look away. "C'mon papí, we're leaving." She finally turned to leave, taking the little boy with her. 

"Goodbye," Heero murmured after the two, looking at the small child with an almost forlorn gaze. Adriel turned around to offer one last wave of goodbye. Heero waved back as the mother and child disappeared down the hall. Sighing heavily, he closed the door. He turned to face Duo, who was still sitting on the sofa. For a moment, he simply stood unmoving by the door, staring broodingly at Duo.

Duo ignored him. He turned to the TV, grabbed the remote and flipped through the channels until he reached the music channel. A music video was playing, featuring provocative looking girls dancing seductively to the beat. He turned up the volume and watched the video clip play.

"Do you intend to keep sitting in front of the television all day?" Heero finally asked.

"You gotta problem with that?" Duo grumbled in response.

"I have work to do."

"No one's keeping you from doing it."

"You realize that it's already Monday."

"Yeah, so?"

"You should start searching for employment," Heero reproached with dismay. "You've already wasted most of the day smoking, watching television and playing video games." 

"But you said you'll talk to that guy for me," Duo said without even turning away from the television, too absorbed in the provocative images flashing on the screen.

"What guy?"

"Jesus  _ fucking _ Christ – who else?" Duo turned around to give Heero an irate look. Heero glared back, clearly not appreciating the sarcasm.

"The  _ garage  _ guy, Heero," Duo grunted with annoyance, rolling his eyes. "You said you'll talk to him about hiring me, remember?"

The perplexed expression did not vanish from Heero's face. He took a moment to think, apparently trying to recall his promise to Duo.

"What  _ 'garage guy' _ ?" 

"Your mechanic! The one you programmed a database for or whatever! You said you'll talk to him about hiring me. You said you'll  _ vouch _ for me, remember?" 

"Yes," Heero let out quietly, frowning as he seemed to struggle to recall the matter. "I intend to do that but I think you should also try searching the wanted ads, just in case he refuses," he explained and then suddenly grimaced. He reached a hand to push his eyeglasses off the bridge of his nose, wincing.

" _ Fine _ ," Duo grumbled and turned back to the television, changing channels petulantly; "I'll get on it first thing tomorrow."

As if sensing the tension in the air, Chowder stepped out of the laundry room where it had been napping and approached its owner. Seeing that the damn dog was out of its hiding place, Duo shifted his eyes aside to follow the stupid beast as it made its way past the sofa towards the door. He saw that Heero was still standing there, his features contorting slightly in pain as he rubbed the bridge of his nose under his glasses.

"You okay man?"

"Yes," Heero murmured and readjusted his glasses. "I'm just... tired."

Duo let out a short sneer. "Yeah well, all of that grade-school math must have worn you out." Duo shrugged carelessly. He turned back to the TV and resumed flipping through the channels. 

"I still have to complete my... mi..." He heard Heero mumble faintly. Then Chowder let out a short alarmed bark, which was immediately followed by a low thud, like a large lump of meat falling to the floor.

Frowning, Duo turned around.

Heero had collapsed and was now lying unconscious on the floor behind the sofa, just a few steps away from his desk.

"Shit," he cussed and jumped off the armchair. He hurried to circle the sofa and crouched by Heero's side.

Chowder was probing Heero's unconscious form with its snout, sniffing him and getting in Duo's way. Duo shoved the damn dog violently out of the way. The pet wailed sadly but didn't approach Duo again; it stood a foot away, looking at the two with a pair of gleaming brown eyes.

"Da fuck's wrong with you today?" Duo demanded as he flipped the unconscious man over so that he lay on his back. As he was turned, Heero's glasses slipped off, falling to the hardwood floor with a soft clatter. Aside from a few stray bangs falling over his closed eyes, his features were vulnerably exposed.

Duo gawked at Heero's face, now unhidden behind the pair of black eyeglasses. He had gotten so used to the sight of a mature Heero with eyeglasses on that for a split second he was stunned to see him without them again; it was like having a glimpse back into the past, a flashback to the teenage boy Duo had used to call his friend.

"Heero..." he whispered wistfully, greeting the sight of his long lost friend.

Slowly, as if afraid to disturb something holy, he reached a hand down to touch Heero's face. He stopped only an inch above his hot skin, hesitating before plunging down the rest of the way. 

Carefully, he brushed a group of soft hairs out of Heero's eyes, tucking them gently behind his ear. He hesitated only for a moment before resting his fingers tenderly over the man's clean-shaven cheek. It was soft, smooth and warm to the touch. Duo allowed his fingers to travel down the man's face, tracing his handsome features carefully. His eyes focused on the man's closed eyelids before shifting to stare solely at Heero's slightly parted lips.

He swallowed hard, forcing a lump of nervousness down his suddenly dry throat.

_ Do I dare..? _ he asked himself, hesitant and apprehensive of answering his own question, of answering his own need and desire.  _ It won't do no harm if no one knows about it... _

He gazed fondly at his friend's oblivious face. In his unconscious state, with his features relaxed, Heero seemed so much younger, so much more like the boy Duo had known and admired all those years ago. Staring lengthily at Heero's lifelessly agape and inviting lips, Duo's logic gradually slipped away. It was replaced by a deep longing... an aching yearn for closeness and acceptance. His heart pounded for Heero, his lips tingled for a warm welcoming touch and his loins burned with the need to dominate and conquer. He knew that it was now or never. Heero would never be his otherwise; he mustn't miss this chance.

Slowly, moving one frantic heartbeat at a time, Duo leaned down. He allowed himself a moment to simply hover an inch above the Heero's parted lips, basking in the warm halo of his shallow breath. He licked his lips hungrily, his breath shortening with anticipation. He was going to do it. He was going to make Heero  _ his _ . He was going to be Heero's first again; the first man who had ever kissed his virginal lips.

Looking closely at Heero's closed eyes, Duo inhaled a shuddering breath and leaned down to seal the young man's lips with a kiss.

He held his breath as his lips met Heero's, expecting sparks to fly and his heart to soar. Instead, his stomach flipped with anxiety and his heart jolted violently in his chest as fear and adrenaline hit simultaneously. A distorted image flashed in his mind; for a split of a second he saw anguish and betrayal flood Heero's Prussian blue eyes and so he clutched his own eyes tightly shut, forcing the mental image away. Ignoring the throbbing pain in the deepest regions of his heart, Duo concentrated solely on the kiss.

Heero's lips were dry to the touch; lifeless, but warm. Warily, Duo sneaked his tongue between the unconscious man's lips and forced them open further. He licked the limp flesh to dampen it and then dove in for a wet yet hardly succulent kiss.

His heart raced wildly in his chest and his breathing became labored; nervousness and shame knotted in his stomach. Still, he refused to withdraw and plunged in further, submersing himself in Heero's mouth.

He kissed Heero lengthily, taking his time to explore the helplessly unaware mouth. He teased the lifeless tongue inside Heero's mouth, begging it to come to life and respond to him. His kissing became fiercer, more demanding and angry as the seconds passed and Heero didn't respond. Grabbing the man by clutching his arms forcefully, Duo lifted the unconscious Heero up, bringing him closer hungrily, pressing torso to torso as they—he—continued kissing. He reached a hand to support the man's lolling head and pushed Heero closer to him.

Chowder watched the odd scene playing out before him: his owner lying limply on the floor, held in the hands of a stranger. Heero's arms dangled lifelessly at his sides, as Duo continued to ravage his oblivious mouth with a sloppy wet kiss. The dog cocked its head aside in confusion, observing curiously.

Unaware of anything but the sensation of Heero's warm mouth against his tongue, Duo continued the unwelcomed kiss. That is, until Heero's eyes suddenly snapped wide open.

*             *             *

**To be continued in Chapter 05: Confessions:**

"NO!" Duo shouted, shaking his head wildly, his hair flinging from side to side. "It was just a _kiss!_ I ain't done nuthin' wrong!"

\---

Duo was completely oblivious to the pair of green eyes reflecting in the rearview mirror of one of the cars in front of Heero's building. The driver watched him from behind a pair of golden eyeglasses.

\---

"I fucking _hate_ the way you look at me now – like I screwed you somehow! I ain't the one who fucked you up, Heero – life did! [...] You can't be blaming me for shit! I ain't done you no wrong!"

" _You!_ " Heero huffed angrily, panting with rage. "You have no idea wha—" he quickly caught himself from completing the sentence.

\---


	7. Chapter 05: Confessions

**One Week - Part 7/20**

**Chapter 05: Confessions**

 

Sensing the sudden tensing of Heero's tongue, Duo halted his kiss and shifted his eyes up.

Heero's numb blue eyes gawked back at him.

Their gazes locked.

Duo couldn't breathe.

Frozen in shock, he couldn't detach himself from Heero's lips either.

Then, in a sudden burst of lucidness, Heero's eyes lit up with recognition and quickly widened with panic. He choked out a muffled yelp, straight into Duo's mouth. His whole body stiffened as he tried to struggle out of Duo's tight hold, attempting to push Duo off of him, all the while muffling sounds of distress into the lips locked around his mouth.

Chowder started barking and growling in response to its owner's distress.

Then, just like that, Heero's anxious groaning died out and his blue eyes rolled back into his head. His body went limp and he fell back to a state of unconsciousness.

Duo jerked backwards, dropping Heero. The man fell; dead weight thudding against the hardwood floor. Guilty and afraid, Duo quickly crawled backwards, distancing himself from the scene of the crime.

Panting heavily, he stared at the unconscious young man lying on the floor. Heero's head had lolled to the side, facing Duo. His eyes were closed and his bruised lips glistened with saliva. His arms lay folded awkwardly across the hardwood floor and, aside from the slight movement of his chest under his grey T-shirt, Heero remained completely motionless.

Duo's eyes focused on the man's bruised lips and his stomach roiled with nausea. He flung forward on all fours, coughing dryly and quivering with fear of the repercussions of his selfish crime.

"Shit," he cussed and shamefully buried his face in his hands. " _Shit shit SHIT!._ "

The dog continued barking, signaling its owner's distress to the world. It took a while for its angry howls to register with Duo.

" _SHUDDUP!_ " he whirled around and screamed. "SHUT _DA FUCK_ UP! _Shit!_ "

Stumbling up on to two feet Duo charged at the dog and grabbed it by its collar. Chowder struggled to break free, but Duo overpowered the large beast and dragged it towards the laundry room. He kicked the dog inside and slammed the door shut with another kick. Inside the utility room, Chowder barked frantically while scraping against the door.

"Shuddup already!" Duo shouted and kicked the door fiercely, scaring the dog off. Chowder continued barking relentlessly; its howls were loud and aggressive, filling the apartment with sounds of distress.

The constant barking didn't just serve to anger Duo further, but it also fueled the anxiousness burning in his chest. He turned his gaze towards the living room, where Heero lay sprawled lifelessly on the hardwood floor between the sofa and his desk. Duo's eyes shimmered with unshed tears as he watched the man lying there, violated and used, thrown aside like a discarded toy. This was _not_ the soldier he knew.

The afternoon light coming from the living room window shone on his damp lips, catching Duo's glance. He focused on Heero's bruised and abused lips, slightly parted in unconsciousness. Guilt flooded his chest, threatening to overflow until he'd suffocate, drowning in his own sense of remorse. The Soldier was gone... and it was his fault. He had reduced Heero to this... this... this abused _corpse_ lying on the floor.

"NO!" Duo shouted, shaking his head wildly, his hair flinging from side to side. "It was just a _kiss!_ I ain't done nuthin' wrong!"

He wanted nothing more than to pick Heero up and place him somewhere safe, to bring him to a place in which he still had some dignity left; a place far from him – his molester. However his feet were rooted to the spot, he was unable to move. The guilt was so overwhelming that it had transformed into pure fear, making him unable to think or even stir. He simply stood there and stared at Heero, listening to the sound of his own wild heartbeats and Chowder's loud barking in the background.

A timeless moment seemed to pass slowly, stretching longer than any other tormenting moment in Duo's life. Snapshot images flashed in his mind, torturing him with memories of his past crime: a fan of platinum-blond hair flew backwards into the air as a head was thrown back in pleasure; ocean-blue eyes fluttered shut with ecstasy; passionate hands roamed all over his body; droplets of sweat slid down his chest and onto another's flat abdomen; the same ocean-blue eyes snapped wide open in panic; thin pink lips gasped in a silent scream; his muscled arms flexed with effort; his need, hunger and fury became uncontrollable. It had ended... tragically bad. More snapshots assaulted his mind's eye: a bruised and beaten body, the blood under his fingernails and a pair of glazed-over ocean-blue eyes remaining wide open, forever gazing up at him in shock and disbelief.

The last image to flash in his mind was the loathing glare Quatre had given him during his trial. That hateful gaze was glued to the back of his eyelids each night when he went to bed. There was no avoiding it. There was no avoiding what he had done. And now... now he was so dangerously close to doing it again. The mere thought of it sent Duo's mind reeling with horrid images oozing blood, lust, hate and fear.

Then, the doorbell rang.

Exhaling a sharp gasp, Duo jolted and froze, like a deer caught in the headlights. He turned his head aside numbly towards the door.

The ringing was followed by a knock.

Duo's eyes quickly shifted towards Heero lying unconscious but a few feet away from the door. His heart began racing faster with anxiety. He stood silent and unmoving, struggling to control his breathing and desperately willing whoever it was behind the door to give up and go away.

However Chowder was still barking in distress and the knock on the door became faster and more anxious.

"Hiro?" a deep male voice called, "Are you there? Is everything alright?"

" _Crap_ ," Duo grumbled under his breath. His eyes sought for a way out of the situation. He locked his gaze on Heero, looking at him closely. Luckily, Heero wasn't showing any signs of regaining consciousness. If he waited long enough, the person behind the door might give up and leave.

Chowder continued barking like crazy. Duo stood anxiously by the kitchen bar, waiting for the intruder to depart. But then he heard a key slide into the lock and his breath caught in his throat.

_"Fuck!"_ he cussed and hurried to run to the door. He unlocked it before the other person could and flung the door open. He was relieved to recall that it opened to his left, thus concealing Heero from sight.

A man stood outside of Heero's door. He seemed to be close to forty years old. He was pale, lanky and with a red set of hair and a red beard. He was dressed in an elegant pair of dark jeans and a fancy white dress shirt. He was also wearing a stylish pair of golden eyeglasses. Overall, his appearance gave Duo the impression that the man was either some fancy faggot, or a total _dork_ ; possibly both.

"What do you want?" Duo asked bluntly, frowning and being purposely rude.

The man was caught by surprise. "Uhm," he let out in confusion, "Is Hiro home?"

Duo stiffened and tensed visibly; highly aware that the man he had just molested was still lying concealed behind the door. His senses tuned on any sound that might be coming from Heero's direction, but he heard none. He resisted that urge to shift uncomfortably or glance aside towards Heero. Instead he focused on the lanky bearded redhead in front of him and scowled.

"Who's asking?" he asked curtly and raised his chin up defiantly.

"Oh, yes, of course." The man smiled kindly and reached his hand out for a handshake. "I'm Jerry," he said, speaking as though he expected Duo to know him. When Duo simply stared at him, scowling, the redheaded man's smile vanished and he cleared his throat. "Uh, Hiro's sponsor? He must have mentioned me – Gerald Hodgins?" he said in a tone implying that he still expected Duo to put two and two together and figure out who he was.

Duo only frowned deeper. _Sponsor? Da fuck?_ "You mean from work?" he asked to clarify.

It was the man's turn to frown. "Uhm, no. Where's Hiro?" he asked again and tried to look into the apartment; Duo quickly stepped aside to block his way, pinning the man's gaze with his own.

Jerry frowned. "I told him I'll be coming to pick him up at six," he explained and Duo's eyes turned to focus on the key the man was still holding in his hand.

"Pick him up where?" _A date?! With this faggot? Piss off, ya cock-sucking fuck. Da fuck you have a key to Heero's place anyway!_

Jerry paused to give Duo a good once-over, studying him from head to toe and making Duo feel very self-conscious. He probably looked like a mess, giving away his unstable state of mind. He hoped that his lips weren't swollen from kissing Heero so forcefully.

Glaring at the slightly taller man, Duo pinned his gaze with his so he wouldn't look anywhere else.

The redheaded man frowned. "I'm sorry, but who might you be again?"

"Just a friend," he retorted, not caring to give away more than necessary. He crossed his arms over his chest impudently.

"I see," Jerry muttered, glancing away as though uncomfortable; Duo could tell that he was trying to get another peek into the apartment.

The sound of Chowder's barking was still coming from the utility room. Duo pulled his shoulder blades closer and straightened his back, trying to gain a more dominant posture in front of the taller man standing before him. He pinned the man's green eyes with his fierce cobalt gaze.

"Is everything alright?" Jerry asked with concern and readjusted his golden eyeglasses, pushing them up the bridge of his nose and thus trying to conceal that he was trying to peek into the apartment again. Duo, of course, wasn't fooled by the man's futile attempt to hide his shifting gaze. His sharp senses did not fail to see the wary shine in the man's green eyes.

"Usually when Chowder barks like that, I know that Hiro must have fainted somewhere in the apartment," Jerry explained and gestured with the spare key he was holding.

Duo's expression hardened into a malicious glare. _Da fuck is this faggot? And how much does he know about Heero that I don't? Why would Heero give him a damn key anyway? I'm the one who should be taking care of him – not this ass-hole-licking-fuck!_

"Yeah, I know," Duo faked a friendly smile. "Heero wasn't feeling well so I helped him get to bed before he went out-cold on me allova sudden," he lied smoothly; lying was a second nature to him. "Now the dog won't stop barking."

"Is that so?" Jerry mumbled skeptically. "You need to walk him. That usually calms him down."

_Da fuck are YOU to be tellin' ME what to do! Fuck off, faggot. I don't need no fancy shmancy homo snooping around Heero._

"Yeah, well, I was just about to take it out," Duo answered with a phony smile.

Jerry nodded. "Okay, so, just tell Hiro that I'll give him a call later. Oh, and that he still owes me that soda," he added with a smile which Duo could easily tell was fake.

"Sure man, I'll tell him," Duo faked a smile of his own. "I'll let him know you dropped by."

"Thank you," Jerry nodded in appreciation and turned to leave. He paused, as though about to say something else, but then just smiled and walked away.

Duo watched the redheaded man make his way towards the elevator. He didn't miss the stealthy glance Jerry sent his way as he departed. While others would have easily missed the wary gesture, Duo did not. He watched the man guardedly as the elevator doors closed behind him. Only then did he allow himself to scowl dangerously. He did not like the thought of strangers being so close to Heero; he didn't like that _at all_ . First there was the damn _squirt_ and his _bitch-of-a-mother_ and now a redheaded cocksucker too? No; that was unacceptable. There wasn't enough room in Heero's life for all those people. Heero was _his_ best friend and only _his_ . Others should know better and keep _the Hell_ away.

_Keep your anal-licking face da fuck away, faggot,_ he warned scornfully and finally turned to close and lock the door.

Slowly, Duo turned to face the apartment again, leaning against the closed door. His eyes focused on Heero, who was lying lifelessly on the hardwood floor. He glared at him lengthily, his gaze accusing.

_You built yourself quite a cozy nest here, didn't ya Heero? Bet you just can't wait for me to leave it, but I ain't. Not until you wise up 'n realize who REALLY cares about you. I'll make you see it, Heero. I'll make you—_

A horrifying image rushed past his mind's eye; those glazed-over ocean-blue eyes were staring at him again, numb but accusing nonetheless. In a flash they were replaced by Heero's Prussian blue eyes, mortified and tormented. He recalled the man's anxious and nearly hysteric sounds of distress as he found himself being kissed against his will.

With a sharp gasp of air, Duo's sanity kicked abruptly into gear, jolting him like a bolt of lightning. In an instant Duo realized what kind of menacing thoughts were running through his head and – suddenly sensible again – the realization frightened him. The fear chased his psychosis away like a receding tide. The jealous fog which had clouded his judgment gradually diminished.

Heero seemed to have that effect on him. He felt saner when he was alone with Heero. It was how things were meant to be. That was the reason why he came to Heero in the first place. Only here would he find peace and absolution; only Heero would be willing to grant him that – that is, if he won't slipup again and screw things up like always.

_How long has he been unconscious?_ Duo wondered. _It can't be more than five or ten minutes, right?_

He recalled that it hadn't been easy reviving Heero that morning after he had fainted on a city bench. Heero must have been unconscious for quite a while then too, because it had taken Duo almost ten minutes to track and drag Chowder back to the bench. Based on that morning's incident, Heero might wake up in a matter of minutes.

"I fucked shit up again, didn't I?" Duo sighed as he bowed his head and lifted his hands up to cover his face shamefully. "I'm such a fucked up piece of shit. Dammit, Heero – I didn't mean it, yanno!" He called out desperately. Rational once again, his face twisted with anguish and self-reproach. His cobalt eyes shone mournfully; he was genuinely upset, begging Heero to understand.

"This shit ain't what it looks like," he whispered with a quivering voice. "It ain't like rape 'n all that crap. It really ain't. I mean, it's just a kiss and you weren't even... you weren't supposed to wake up!"

Fear and shame filled his eyes with unshed tears, threatening to overwhelm him. He felt his knees quiver weakly, about to collapse to the floor. He fought to keep himself standing, struggling to make sense of his insanely malicious act.

"This is... see, it ain't... It's not like I did back when... no. It ain't like that so just chill, okay? It's... it's not the same. I... I only wanted to... it's not the same, so you can't think I meant to do that shit to you, okay? I'll NEVER do that to you, Heero, okay? I mean, I know better now. People ain't a piece of ass 'n girls aren't there just for pussy, okay? I KNOW that, okay? I know. It's not like that so... so we're cool, right? I mean, you know me. I'm all talk no game, right? I'll never do that to you, Heero, I swear ta God I won't."

Desperate to make his words count for something, Duo reached for his cross, clutching it tightly in his fist.

"I swear to fuckin' God, Heero. I swear to everything and anything and whatever, yanno? I won't touch you that way again, okay? I know better than that now, okay? I... it was a slipup, that's all. You were... I mean, you looked like you again, yanno? So I just... but it ain't like that, okay? I won't do it again. I swear ta God... Oh Jesus fucking Christ..." he whispered hopelessly and leaned his head backwards against the door, staring upwards, hoping that God might be listening, that he might understand.

"I won't do it again. It was just a kiss but I... I won't do it again."

Miserable, he turned his head aside, looking at Heero who still lay lifelessly on the floor, oblivious to his desperate apology. Turning his gaze upwards again, Duo struggled to control his inner turmoil. His fist was still curled tightly around his cross, seeking strength from the Divine.

"Oh God... just make me better already... Heero is… he's all I've got, so... please... don't make me do that shit again... don't make me do this to him... please..." he turned to the man, his eyes tearful. "Heero... please forgive me? We're still friends, right?"

With the only other person in the room lying unconscious on the floor, there was no one there to remind him that Heero had denied their friendship bluntly that very morning. Duo's only reply was Chowder's hoarse barking coming from behind the laundry room door.

Sighing, Duo finally stepped away from the front door and slowly walked towards Heero. He knelt by the unconscious man's side and gazed at him regretfully. Heero was lying tilted onto his side, his hands sprawled lifelessly on the floor, his head turned sideways, his messy hair falling over his closed eyes and his lips parted slightly in unconsciousness. He seemed like a broken toy, cast aside and abandoned by an uninterested child.

The man's black eyeglasses lay on the floor above his head. Shakily, Duo reached for them, folded them neatly and carefully placed them in his baggy shorts' pocket. Then, he turned back to Heero and scooped him up into his arms with great care. Holding the man cradled in his arms, Duo was sad to find out that Heero weighed close to nothing, another indication of his poor health.

He carried Heero to his bedroom and gently placed him in his bed. He arranged the young man's limp arms over his abdomen and covered him caringly with a blanket. Standing over Heero's bed, he took the man's eyeglasses out of his pocket and placed them respectfully on the nightstand. He remained by Heero's bedside for a moment longer, gazing at him lengthily.

Heero seemed better now, Duo decided. He felt as though the young man's dignity had been restored now that he was lying tucked safely in his bed. He had the urge to bend down and kiss Heero softly, as though wishing him goodnight, but he was sane enough to know better. With a heavy, burdened, sigh, Duo stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him.

Chowder was still barking angrily behind the laundry room door; its loud howls resonated within the silent apartment, undoubtedly reaching the surrounding apartments as well. Duo couldn't afford anyone getting curious as to what was going on in the apartment. With a new sense of purpose and a clearer mind, Duo headed to the front door and snatched the dog's leash off a hanger. He marched firmly towards the utility room, took a deep breath and swung the door open.

Chowder charged at him even before he could take a step inside. The large dog attacked Duo with a vengeance, jaws ready to bite and claws ready to tear his flesh. Using skills that were more like reflexes, Duo easily overpowered the large dog and restrained it with the leash. He fetched his smokes and lighter off the windowsill and dragged the struggling animal out of the small room.

Chowder thrashed violently and tugged at its leash, trying to break away, but Duo held onto it tightly, curling the leash around his fist to shorten its length and limit the dog's wild movements. Chowder barked angrily and wailed, calling out for its owner. Duo sent a worried glance towards the closed bedroom door, afraid that Heero might wake up from the racket the damn dog was making. When he heard no sound or movement from the bedroom, he allowed himself to relax.

With much effort he dragged the large dog to the door, where a narrow drawer-dresser stood. Heero's wallet and keys lay inside a bowl on top of the dresser. Grabbing them both, Duo shoved Heero's wallet into his back pocket and stepped out of the apartment, forcefully pulling Chowder along with him.

He had to force the dog down three flights of stairs (not caring much for being trapped with it inside an elevator), fighting to contain the angry beast as it tried to either attack him or run off somewhere. Finally tired of struggling with the damn beast, Duo yanked hard at its leash, nearly choking the large dog. He gave it a strong kick in the gut and tugged forcefully at the leash until the large animal finally submitted. With a sharp wail, Chowder fell silent. Keeping its head bowed submissively, the dog followed Duo out the building, limping.

Relieved that the damn animal finally quieted down and obeyed him, Duo released more of the leash and allowed Chowder to walk ahead of him. He lit up a cigarette and tried to calm down as he headed down the narrow side-street. So busy contemplating what he had just done to Heero, distracted by his efforts to rationalize and forgive his own sins, Duo was completely oblivious to the pair of green eyes reflecting in the rearview mirror of one of the cars in front of Heero's building. The driver watched him from behind a pair of golden eyeglasses. They watched as he walked the dog out into the main street.

*             *             *

After walking down a few blocks Duo found a small urban deli. He tied Chowder's leash at the entrance and went inside – with Heero's wallet in hand – to get himself a new pack of smokes and a six pack of cold beer bottles. Then he headed back to Heero's place.

When he returned, the same pair of green eyes followed him into the building, watching from within a black SUV parked in front of Heero's building. A pair of lips framed by a red beard and mustache pressed together into a wary frown. Once Duo disappeared into the building, the driver started the car. The black SUV drove off.

Duo walked into Heero's building, holding a bag of groceries in his one hand and a leash in the other. Chowder followed with its head bowed submissively. As he stepped into Heero's apartment, Duo was greeted by the distinct scent of fresh coffee. Heero was awake.

Duo released Chowder from its leash reluctantly and the dog ran quickly towards the laundry room. With a tired sigh, he followed it silently, holding the grocery bag.

Chowder headed first into the small utility room. Duo remained standing at the doorway, holding the grocery bag, afraid to go or even look inside. He had no idea what to expect of the moments to come; he didn't know if Heero recalled the kiss or not.

He found Heero standing by the window inside the small room, holding a large coffee mug. The laundry room window was wide open, revealing a beautiful summer sunset stretching above the streets of Philadelphia, rich with orange, yellow, purple and pink hues. Heero stood by the window, sipping coffee from the large mug as he stared off into the horizon.

The young man had showered and changed out of his jeans and T-shirt. He was now wearing a terribly unfashionable blue men's plaid night-robe. Beneath it he was dressed in a shabby pair of plaid blue boxer shorts and a white tank top undershirt; both articles hung sloppily on his slender body, emphasizing his unhealthily skinny frame. Not for the first time Duo was forced to acknowledge that he was looking at a decrepit and enfeebled young man, clearly worn by sickness and fatigue. And yet, rather than feeling troubled by Heero's brittle appearance, Duo found his frailty to be quite alluring, and even more so – arousing. The feeling made no real sense to him, but it still tickled pleasantly in his pants. He knew that if he wanted to, he could easily overpower Heero and force him into submission; he already had. Knowing that made him feel powerful, in control, and therefore sane. He knew that if he really wanted to – Heero _will_ be his.

Of course, he had promised all that was Holy that he wouldn't, so he won't. It wouldn't be right. Still, it comforted him to know that if he chose to do so then all options were open before him. Heero would make a great fuck, of that he was certain.

_Shit man!_ He berated his own unstable thoughts. _Heero's my only pal, not another hole ta fuck! Christ, I thought we went over this already! Do you wanna go down that road again? Really? Jesus fucking Christ man – get a fuckin' hold on yourself!_

Taking a deep breath to calm his racing heart, Duo stepped into the room, mumbling an uncertain "Hey."

"...hey," Heero whispered back. He sounded either wary or distracted, Duo wasn't sure which exactly, but it worried him. He watched Heero take a small sip from his coffee, gazing thoughtfully out the window. Chowder approached its owner and nuzzled his foot affectionately, seeking attention. Heero didn't turn to acknowledge his pet and simply kept looking out the window. Wailing sadly, Chowder pulled back and sat down, gazing up at its owner.

"Feeling better?" Duo dared to ask, choosing to pretend like nothing happened. He placed the grocery bag on the dryer to his side and took a step closer towards Heero.

Ignoring him, Heero merely sipped his hot beverage quietly. His gaze was fixed somewhere on the horizon, where a summertime sunset painted the small visible patches of sky in a beautiful display of rich warm colors. A gentle summer breeze carried the scent of flowers into the room, which otherwise reeked of dog food and cigarettes. The sound of children playing also drifted in with the wind; echoes of childish cries and laughter were coming from the yard below.

"I hope it's okay I put you in bed," Duo tried again carefully. "I took your dog out for a walk so you could rest quietly."

Heero nodded slightly but did not turn to face Duo yet. Seeing Heero's reluctance to face anything but the window, Duo began to fear that his actions were recalled clearly. He swallowed the anxious lump forming in his throat and struggled to remain composed.

Knowing Heero, Duo was certain that it wouldn't take him long to approach the subject directly. Being anything but rash, Heero's reaction would be calm and well-calculated. He'd remain composed and firm, cold yet considerate; he'd try to understand first and only then rule his verdict. If he'd play his cards right, Duo knew he might have a chance to get away with what he had done either way. If push came to shove, he'd make up some farfetched explanation and try to appeal to Heero's kindness: his most distinct flaw and greatest weakness.

But for now, he decided to keep beating around the bush for as long as he could. If Heero remembered the kiss, he will soon speak about it.

Duo reached towards his grocery bag and pulled out a cool bottle of beer. Thick droplets slid down the green glass, coating the bottle with moisture much like in an inviting beer commercial.

"Want one?" he gestured with the bottle towards Heero.

The young man turned to stare numbly at the beer. After a silent moment, he resumed looking out the window, uninterested in Duo's offer.

The sound of children playing drifted from the yard below along with crickets waking to the sunset. It was interrupted by a loud _'pop!'_ as Duo opened the ring-pull bottle cap. Gulping down a long sip, he sighed contently; it had been _years_ since he last had a nice cold beer. While he had smuggled liquor into the prison, he had never bothered with beer (mostly because there was no way to serve it cold). Sipping his drink as though having not one care in the world, Duo approached the window as well. He placed his beer on the windowsill and took a newly bought pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. Looking thoughtfully at Heero, he lighted a cigarette.

He'll be damned if he'd be the one to bring anything up. He decided to wait and see what Heero might say or do. He leaned back against the washing machine behind him, a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He drank and smoked while watching Heero intently.

He was standing so close to Heero that he could almost _feel_ the man's sweet body heat. He wished he could step a bit closer, but the damn dog was in the way. It was almost as if the damn beast wished to protect its owner. Chowder was sitting on the floor between Heero and him. Duo sent it a quick glare and the dog tucked its head between its paws, folding its ears timidly. Heero looked down at his pet but when he saw that nothing was wrong he returned to staring out the window, sipping his coffee contemplatively.

Duo's eyes traveled slowly up Heero's body, hungrily drinking the sight of him as his gaze trailed up Heero's bare feet, his skinny and slightly hairy legs, up to his baggy boxer shorts, to his sloppy white tank top and then down again. Despite the horrible plaid robe Heero was wearing, Duo found the young man quite appealing, perhaps exactly because he seemed so small and susceptible. The sunset light compensated for his ill and pale skin tone, washing him with a golden hue that only made him even more magnificent. His hair seemed darker, like rich chocolate, and his eyes shone faintly behind his eyeglasses, glimmering under the last rays of sunshine gradually dimming behind the buildings ahead.

Eventually, Duo's eyes focused on Heero's pale pink lips. He watched them as they rested against the tip of the coffee mug, sipping the beverage, pressing gently around the tip of the mug. He wondered what it would feel like to have those same lips pressed against his dripping cock...

_Shit_ , he cussed inwardly and shook his head. _Cut it out,_ he berated himself harshly and took another gulp of beer. _You make me crazy, Heero,_ he accused the man inside the relative safety of his own mind. _There's nuthin' I can do about it, yanno? It's your own fault for being all I've got. I haffta do what I can to keep you around. I can't help it. I need you so bad. Jesus. Not like that, okay? Fuck!_

"Oh yeah," he started talking so he could stop thinking; "This guy came looking for you earlier," he informed Heero as casually as his anxiety allowed him. "He said I had to remind you that you still owed him a soda."

"Jerry," Heero nodded thoughtfully, "He was supposed to be here at six."

"Yeah, that's the guy. Said he was your sponsor and I figured from work. Yanno Heero, you usually have a beer with co-workers," he gestured with his beer towards Heero, "not _soda_. Where was he supposed to take you anyway?"

"To a meeting," Heero spoke with little interest. He leaned out the window a bit, looking down at the yard. The sound of children playing still echoed between the buildings surrounding the back garden.

"You need a _chauffeur_ to go to a meeting?" Duo asked skeptically. It was clear that Heero was more interested with what went on outside than what he was saying. He had a feeling that if he looked outside, he would see the damn _squirt_ among the children.

"So what gives? Why do ya need the dude to pick you up?"

"I don't drive," Heero replied matter-of-factly and straightened back up so he could sip his coffee. His manner was a bit too calm, too unconcerned and slow-paced for Duo's liking. He did not know what to make of it.

_Is he pissed off? Is he too shocked to say sumthin'? Is he about to fucking kill me without warning? What is it, man? C'mon! Speak up already!_

"But the squirt said you have a car," Duo tried to act like business as usual and kept the conversation going, while inside, he was screaming with frustration. "Plus you told me 'bout your mechanic, so what gives?"

"I don't need either anymore."

"Why not? Short on cash? It sure don't look like it to me," he said and gestured around to indicate Heero's impressive apartment.

"Not everything revolves money, Duo," Heero sighed and turned back to the window.

"Oh yeah, sure, there's also _sex_ ," Duo tried to joke, but Heero didn't take it too kindly; he sent him a short glare and resumed watching the yard below.

"What kind of a sponsor is Jerry anyway?" He asked in an attempt to keep Heero talking.

"The kind you can only drink soda with," Heero muttered and sipped more of his coffee.

"You mean no beer?" Duo deduced; "That would make him an AA Sponsor," he pointed out. Heero didn't comment on his observation and he wondered if the man's silence meant his confirmation.

"Are you fucking with me?" he exclaimed in surprise, "Or were you really a _drunk?_ "

Heero took another sip of his coffee and continued gazing silently out the window.

"Okay, fine, I get it anyway." Duo sighed.

Ignoring him, Heero continued watching the game being played outside.

Taking a long sip from his beer and then an even longer drag on his smoke, Duo turned to look out the window as well. Gazing down at the yard surrounded by a block of buildings, he counted about eight children running scattered across the lawn, chasing a ball. Two mothers were sitting on a bench by the patch of grass, watching over the children and conversing. Much as he had suspected, Adriel was among the kids, although neither one of the two mothers were Marissa. The large group of children seemed to be divided into two rival groups competing for the ball; they were playing soccer. Adriel was in the lead, kicking the ball away from the rival group and towards a makeshift gate at the other side of the lawn.

"So what's the score?" Duo pretended to give a damn and took another drag of smoke, not really interested in the answer.

"Zero to one," Heero mumbled distractedly, absorbed in the game, and Duo smirked.

"No shit. In whose favor?"

"Adriel's team."

"Fuck it man, the kid's a freaking _football star_. You must be proud," Duo muttered smugly and cynically. Heero turned to look at him in question, as though he was unsure of what Duo meant exactly. Duo gave him a knowing smile and shrugged carelessly. Heero frowned warily, but turned to look out the window again.

Duo allowed him a few moments to watch the children play and sipped his beer quietly. He lit up a second cigarette, studying Heero thoughtfully. The man had placed his unfinished coffee mug on the windowsill, forgetting all about it for he was so absorbed in watching Adriel play. There was a strange and distant look in his blue eyes as he followed the six-year-old running across the field until the game was over.

Duo resumed smoking quietly. He leaned over the windowsill – a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other – and watched the children say their goodbyes as they prepared to go home. The sun had already set and the evening skies were getting dark. The two mothers rose from the bench and urged the children to return to their respective apartments. His eyes focused on Adriel who was standing at the center of the yard, speaking with three of his friends. The damn squirt seemed to be quite popular with his peers.

"Yanno," Duo grunted blatantly, "I think I'd be kinda pissed if I were him," he stated and took one last sip from his beer and emptied the bottle.

Heero sighed tiredly and continued gazing out the window, sipping his coffee as though uninterested in the meaning behind Duo's statement. It was a tactic Duo knew well, so he ignored it and continued on.

"I mean, I grew up with no parents, but I think I woulda been _pissed as Hell_ if I found out they were living next door to me but never bothered tellin' me I'm their son." He threw the half-burnt-out stub into the empty beer bottle and turned to Heero, a harsh, knowing and accusing look in his cobalt eyes. "I mean, that's just sick, right?"

Heero stopped in mid-sip. Stiffly, he lowered the mug down. His eyes turned to study Duo carefully. Duo stared back, lifting his chin up spitefully. He sighed and broke eye contact, shifting his gaze outside again. The yard was now empty; the children had gone home.

Outside, the night sky faded from dark-blue to black with a glow of orange. A yellowish-orange halo enveloped the city of Philadelphia. The bright sky-glow obscured the stars in the night-sky from the city dwellers, but served to illuminate the small room the two were occupying. Only the brightest stars twinkled, their radiance managing to overcome the artificial night sky glow. Lights were turned on in the windows of every building on the block. In the horizon, a few tall skyscrapers could be seen; pillars of lights against the orange glow filling the Philadelphia skyline.

"So you've figured it out," Heero let out quietly; his tone on the verge of being meek, passively accepting the fact that his secret was revealed. It was very much like Heero not to deny the facts. Lord knows he had done so during the war whenever his identity as a Gundam pilot had been jeopardized. Heero never bothered with denial; a gun was enough to silence anyone who threatened to expose him. Now that the cat was out of the bag, Duo knew that all Heero would do was deal with it – without a gun for once. He wondered how that would turn out.

"Of course I did," Duo snorted arrogantly. "I ain't some dumb fuck yanno. Why else would ya let some damn _brat_ hang around ya all day?"

Heero's gaze was thoughtful and somewhat troubled as he looked down at the empty yard.

"Why didja keep it a secret in the first place?" Duo muttered angrily, "You honestly thought I won't figure it out? Don't ya trust me enough to tell me you have a _son?_ And da fuck you didn't tell the squirt he's _yours_ ?!" he demanded vigorously. "What – you're good 'nough to hang out with the boy, help him do his homework 'n shit, but you ain't good 'nough to be his _father?_ What kinda sick reasoning is _that?_ Shit, Heero, your past doesn't necessarily make you a monster, yanno."

"Mind your own damn business and keep out of mine." Heero hissed, glaring at Duo ruthlessly.

"It's a bit too late for that, don't ya think? I know 'bout your secret, man."

Heero's eyes widened briefly before narrowing into a frown; a cloud of anxiety shadowed his eyes for a fleeting moment. Then, he shook his head curtly and leveled his gaze with Duo's, his features darkening with a dangerous scowl.

"You know nothing." Heero's voice was stern, well-guarded and _cold_ ; angry, even _._

"I know that you must have a reason for hiding something this big," Duo stated arrogantly; "And I can tell that you're pretty anxious 'bout it too. You've been on edge the whole time the kid was over here. I could tell. What gives?"

Heero remained defiantly silent. He turned away, facing the window once more. He studied the lights glowing from the windows of the residential buildings ahead; his gaze was distant and upset.

"What is it you want me to say, Duo?" he finally murmured and slowly turned to face Duo; his soulful eyes imploring Duo to give him an honest answer. "What are you trying to gain by coaxing an answer out of me?"

For a moment, Duo lost his poise. Heero's intense blue eyes were bearing a hole through the very fibers of his being. There was hurt in his eyes... so many troubled emotions simmering under a cool surface.

"Right now all I wanna do is talk," Duo declared boldly, "I figured we could use a little honesty around here. Da fuck you ain't tellin' me, Heero?"

"You have your secrets, and I have mine," Heero muttered gravely. "Let's keep it that way until this week ends."

"Tell me why you split when the war ended," Duo blurted out before he could think twice. Something inside told him that the time for an honest confession was finally upon them. Something in the air was right. He had Heero in a pinch. It was time to confront some serious issues.

"Tell me why you ditched a friend like he was nothing... like we hadn't been through all that shit together."

Heero's dark blue eyes shifted towards Duo. He studied the young man quietly, his expression unreadable.

"You just took off when it was over and only came back if there was some sort of danger threatening the whole damn planet. You left MO2 without even a lousy _goodbye_ . Just like that, like you didn't need me around anymore... not unless there was some _big mission_ coming up. That wasn't what I expected, yanno? I thought you'd stick around even without battles to fight. I thought we were buddies... I thought we could start anew together, but you just... left. You left first, but you still resent me for keeping my distance after all these years? That's fucked up, man."

Heero's expression turned from troubled to defiant as he glared quietly at Duo. His features were hard and unforgiving. A long moment passed in tense silence. Heero studied Duo warily and Duo glowered back, resenting the accusation he saw seething silently in Heero's eyes. He felt like he was the one on trial, even though he was the one grilling Heero with difficult questions. It made no sense and so his anger simmered as well.

"Yanno," he grunted angrily, crossing his arms over his chest; "I came here thinking you must be pissed I took off without a word after that whole Mariemaia thing, but yanno what – you _deserved_ it. I take it back – I'm _not_ sorry for splitting on you like the others did. You said I can't be a friend to you – well _fuck_ that! _You_ were the one who decided to break things off!"

If he didn't know any better, Duo would have suspected that a crack had just formed in Heero's iron mask and an elusive trickle of hurt sipped through the fracture. Heero shifted his weight from side to side just slightly, before his posture tensed and he regained a cool and defiant composure, thus confirming Duo's suspicions – if Heero was going on the defensive, then he was actually getting through to him.

"I will say this, though," he continued haughtily; pleased with his breakthrough. "I _am_ sorry that it didn't work out, that we couldn't be buddies without the war raging on. We used to rely on each other and it woulda made things easier if we kept sticking up for each other during peacetime too, yanno? Believe it or not, back then, everything was new to me too. I know you thought I had it all figured out, but that was bullshit." He sighed, shrugging helplessly. "Anyway, I'm trying to let bygones be bygones, okay? That's why I'm here now, Heero, and that's the honest to God truth. I'm back to square one and you're all I've got."

For a long awkward moment, Heero observed him mutely. Then, he lowered his gaze to stare at the floor.

"You're asking for my friendship again," he mumbled dazedly, as though suddenly realizing where the conversation was going. Duo had never seen distress in Heero's eyes, but as God was his witness, he could have sworn that Heero was actually appalled by the concept.

"I can't," he stated simply, shaking his bowed head. "We can't be friends."

"Da fuck not?" Duo exclaimed, hurt.

"Why are you so persistent?" Heero called back, obviously upset. "You could always make friends wherever you went. Why can't you just move on? It's been over a decade, Duo, so just let it go. We weren't able to rebuild our lives together and that's that. I can't be your 'square one'. Go rebuild your life elsewhere... and leave me out of it."

"You can't be mad at me for splittin' – because _you_ were the first to leave! I had to track you down after MO2 and I _know_ that you didn't want to be found – because it was damn _hard_ finding you! Then when shit was over you went AWOL again! You were the one who stopped caring – so I did too! God dammit – don't pin this one on me! I fucking _hate_ the way you look at me now – like I screwed you somehow! I ain't the one who fucked you up, Heero – life did! You even think you'll make a shitty father and that ain't got nuthin' to do with me! You can't be blaming me for shit! I ain't done you no wrong!"

" _You!_ " Heero huffed angrily, panting with rage. "You have no idea wha—" he quickly caught himself from completing the sentence. His features turned red with suppressed fury. His blue eyes gleamed coldly as he glared wrathfully at Duo, speaking accusations he could never convey verbally. His Prussian blue eyes were full of resentment and contempt. The hateful gaze had Duo pinned to his spot, unable to move or even breathe. Never in his life had he encountered such abhorrence; not even on that first day in court when the officers guided him into the hall and he met Quatre's eyes for the first time since—

Duo sighed heavily and bowed his head down.

A heavy silence filled the small utility room; so thick the air felt like solid rock. The two young men stood facing each other, their eyes refusing to meet. Long moments ticked by slowly as feelings were sorted out. When he heard Heero take a deep breath and release it with a long sigh, Duo finally dared to look up again. He lifted his head to send a hesitant glance towards the other man. He was surprised to find Heero looking at him calmly. The young man's features were cool and composed when he finally spoke:

"There's... a lot you don't know," he said, choosing his words carefully. "Circumstances have changed;" he sighed. "There's no going back. I'm sorry."

His quiet tone was so terribly grave and carried a heavy sense of finality. Duo couldn't find it in him to offer any arguments.

"What aren't you telling me?" he asked shakily, quivering with a dreadful sense of forbiddance and unfathomable shame.

"You're hiding something from me... like you're hiding from your son. What's so terrible that you have to keep all these secrets?"

"This discussion is over," Heero stated wearily and turned to leave the small laundry room. Chowder rose on all four, ready to follow him out the door. "I have work to catch-up on."

He left along with Chowder, leaving Duo standing by the window as he closed the door behind him. For a while, Duo just gaped at the closed door, trying to make sense of his first earnest conversation with Heero in over ten years. Despite the difficult talk, he was none the wiser. Frustrated, he sighed and turned back to face the window, reaching for another beer and a smoke.

Neither of them was willing to be completely honest with the other. This week they get to spend together is nothing but a final nail to an already sealed coffin. When the week is over, Heero will ask him to leave and that will be a final goodbye. It seemed that Heero will not be his after all, and that was unacceptable.

*             *             *

**To be continued in Chapter 06: Déjà vu:**

"You shouldn't have said that," Duo's voice came out in a cold, detached monotone. "I've warned you," he hissed dangerously.

\---

"You pathetic _dog,_ " Duo mocked cruelly. "I can rip your _freaking balls_ _off_ and you won't be able to do a thing about it!"

\---

Duo's eyes widened in surprise when Heero raised his arm up and pointed the gun at him instead. [...]

"Déjà vu," Heero whispered, panting frenziedly through clenched teeth, his angry eyes never breaking eye contact with Duo, who stood before him unmoving, gawking at him in morbid fascination.

Neither young man dared to move. They merely glowered at each other tensely. Then, Duo smirked.

"Are you actually going to shoot me this time, Heero, or should I just call your bluff again?"

 

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:** Your review will be most appreciated.  
>  Elle


	8. Chapter 06: Déjà vu

**One Week - Part 8/20**

**Chapter 06: Déjà vu**

Late that night, after finishing his work load for the day, Heero threw a set of clean sheets, a pillow and a blanket on the sofa and retired to his bedroom for the night. Chowder followed him in and Heero closed the door behind them both, leaving Duo alone in the living room.

Duo made his bed – cussing the uncomfortable leather sofa – and then lay on it for hours, watching mind-numbing television. At some point during the night he ordered pizza and paid for it with the money from Heero's wallet in the bowl by the door. He ate more than half a box of pizza, finished the rest of the beer bottles and then finally fell asleep with the TV on, snoring loudly.

He dreamt of wartime. His dream took him back to one of the few peaceful moments he had experienced during the war. He dreamt of rain tapping loudly on a dorm-room window as a storm raged through the night. Heero and he were in-between missions, laying low while waiting for further orders from their superiors. It was a long wait, so they enrolled under false names in some boy's-only boarding school somewhere on the coast of France. They were merely a couple of months into the Operation and knew each other just barely enough to offer wary trust. The two weeks they had spent in that boarding school changed that. Without battles to plan or wage, they were basically just two fifteen-year-old boys going to school. Their loose bond had benefitted from the quiet time, and tightened.

The rain was coming down hard and thunder roared loudly. It was late at night and the electricity was out due to the storm. Candles illuminated their room with a dim orange light. Heero was sitting on the floor by his bed, dressed in a warm black track-suit and white socks smudged with black streaks of grease. He was cleaning his pistol, which was laid disassembled in front of him, covered in a glossy layer of grease. He too was sitting on the carpeted floor, holding a small sidearm in his fist. He was only pretending to be cleaning it as he watched Heero go through the motions. He had his earphones on, listening to loud Death Metal music.

Duo watched his partner's slim, long fingers reach for a small metal piece and carefully wipe it with a flannel cloth. Those firm and agile digits seemed to better suit a pianist than a killer; maybe in another lifetime, though.

Lightning flashed blindingly and thunder rolled from a distance. Heero was now sitting right in front of him. They sat facing each other, shadows dancing across their faces as the candles burnt into the night. There was a single gun on the floor between them, gleaming under the soft light. They looked at each other tensely, never breaking eye contact as Duo reached a hand for the gun.

He spun it around and the pistol circled itself for a while before it halted, the barrel pointing at Heero. Duo looked up. Heero's soulful Prussian blue eyes were aimed straight at him, burning fiercely. His expression was stony, guarded and cautious, but his eyes shone like a crackling fire, moving to the rhythm of an ancient forgotten tune.

Slowly, Heero picked up the gun. He aimed it at Duo. A dark, cynical snarl twisted Duo's face as he smirked at the other teenage boy.

Theirs was a game of Russian roulette of a different kind, where bullets were replaced with questions. It was their own version of the popular "Truth or Dare" game, only the gun decided who was to ask the question rather than who was to answer. The game was a way of getting to know each other, however reluctantly, at gun-point. There was a certain element of thrill, since the gun was always cocked and loaded. The hours they spent playing into the night sure beat those dead hours Duo usually spent smoking pot with fellow dorm-members. Marijuana was dull and mind-numbing. Getting to know the person hidden behind the mask of a _"Perfect Soldier"_ was exhilarating in a gut-twisting, heart-wrenching sort of way. It was addictive as the drugs he had abused on the streets of L2.

Heero was the one holding the pistol, so by their rules, it was up to Heero to choose whether he wished to obligate Duo by Truth, or by Dare.

The downpour hammered loudly against the window. The glass rattled as a deep rumbling thunder bombarded the heavens.

"Truth," Heero finally chose and leveled the gun at Duo's head. "Just tell me the truth."

"You first," Duo retorted spitefully; "You're the one keeping _secrets_ from everybody."

"You already know my truth," Heero whispered wretchedly.

Duo frowned. "I do?"

Now he was the one holding the gun, aiming at Heero.

Another lightning struck. The candles extinguished abruptly and the room fell into a thick black darkness.

A shot was fired; it echoed loudly within a large, metal-cased void.

Duo gasped and jumped up to his feet, panicked.

There was something hot and heavy in his hand. He looked down, and saw a smoking gun. Only it wasn't a gun. It was a _knife_ – a bloody jagged military knife. His folding combat knife. Alarmed, he quickly let go of the knife and it fell to the floor with a loud, resonant metallic clank. He shuddered; mortified. He thought he knew where he was; only he didn't... and it scared him.

"Heero?" he called anxiously into the darkness. "Heero? Where'dja go? What happened?"

Eerie silence filled the dark void around him. Then, somewhere in the distance, a tiny sliver of light appeared, slicing through the dark fiber of his subconscious. Something emerged from the bright slit, slipping into the black emptiness. It was a small and square-shaped silver body, gleaming faintly under the light filtering through the bright white tear. It was an aluminum-foil bag – space rations?

Numerous slashed tore into the void one by one, appearing rapidly, slicing through the darkness as more and more of the ration-packs filled the black space, floating in a menacing formation towards Duo.

There was much light pouring into the dark void now that so many bright-white tears had been formed. Compelled to look around him, Duo turned to face the other way. There, under a small window overlooking the Earth and space, he finally found his friend – the adolescent boy codenamed Heero Yuy. The teenage boy was lying sprawled lifelessly on the cold metal floor, face down, surrounded by a pool of blood.

The jagged knife was in Duo's hand again. He could feel his fist wrapped tightly around the familiar object and he knew – he had done this to Heero. Just like he had—

The judge hit the gavel and Duo whirled around, eyes wide with shock. All he could see was the hate and fury in Quatre's blue eyes as the verdict was executed and he was dragged away to be locked behind bars.

He awoke with a shuddering gasp. It was morning and he was lying on the uncomfortable leather sofa in Heero's apartment.

Heero wasn't dead; Duo could hear him in the kitchen, making coffee. Slowly, he sat up and sent a tentative glance towards the kitchen. He saw Heero standing by the kitchen bar, wearing a dark colored business suit over a blue dress shirt and a dark-blue tie. He was holding a coffee mug in one hand and a newspaper in the other, his eyes scanning the headlines from behind his black eyeglasses. The steaming coffee fogged the lenses as he took a small sip.

_It was only a nightmare_ ; Duo reminded himself in an attempt to shake off the terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach. He threw the covers aside and rose from the uncomfortable sofa.

Heero sent him a quick glance from behind the newspaper and then looked back down again. Duo ignored the brisk once-over. He was still upset at how things had ended the night before. The nightmare certainly didn't help. He was in a foul mood and didn't care much for concealing it. Judging by Heero's gesture, Duo assumed that Heero wasn't in the best of moods either.

Yawning widely, he headed for the bathroom, scratching his crotch vulgarly. He slammed the door behind him angrily and turned on the faucet above the sink on full blast, washing his face. He was sweaty and smelly after a night spent thrashing uncomfortably on the sofa, fighting off dark feelings and guilt of unknown origin. Their conversation in the laundry room has left Duo feeling like he was the one at fault, even though he had come to the conclusion that Heero was the one who chose to end their friendship. He tried to play the prosecutor, only to end up as the defendant.

It wasn't right, it wasn't fair. He should have made Heero his friend by now, but instead all he got was a resentful affirmation of their failed relationship. Damn it. Why did it matter to him so damn much? He tried, Heero said 'no', so he should leave. Why was he insisting on begging for forgiveness like a poor, spineless, cheating spouse? He didn't care – he _shouldn't_ care. He should just move on – but he couldn't! Heero was all he had. He was all he had now. It was either Heero or falling back into the habit and ending up doing God knows what.

It was either Heero or nothing.

Heero or nothing.

Heero or...

Duo yanked the medicine cabinet open in hopes in search of... well, something he shouldn't even look for. It was all he could think of, though. He needed something to help him relax. He needed to get his shit back together if he wanted to keep his cool around Heero and beer was just not going to cut it anymore.

Much to his disappointment, he found the medicine cabinet nearly empty. Only a few lone bottles of shaving cream, cologne and deodorant stood inside on an otherwise empty shelf. The orange pill containers he had seen there before were gone; Heero must have hidden them, foolishly believing he hadn't seen them yet.

It was probably for the best, Duo supposed and sighed heavily. He slammed the medicine cabinet shut. His reflection scowled at him from the mirror-door, grim and angry. He stared himself down, glaring at his reflection as he tried to muster the mental strength to berate himself for even considering drugs again. It was pointless; he knew deep down that if the medication would have been there, he would have been gulping down on anti-psychotics by now.

Frustrated and furious, Duo stomped out of the bathroom with a sour expression on his worn-out face. Heero was now standing by his desk, packing a bunch of notes and folders into an elegant leather business bag. Chowder was standing by his side, wagging its tail. Much to Duo's dismay, it seemed that ever since the _"accidental kiss"_ , the damn dog refused to be more than a feet away from its owner.

Heero opened a drawer and pulled out a small cell phone, tucking it into his suit's pocket. While the suit's dark color didn't flatter Heero's pale complexion much, it nevertheless gave off quite an impressive visage. The blazer must have had shoulder pads in it, for it gave Heero the illusion of having broader and less sloping shoulders; thus giving his skinny torso a bulkier, manlier, appearance compared to the frail body it hid underneath.

The bright morning light pouring from the living room window compensated for Heero's pale skin tone by making it glow. Washed by this white halo, Heero seemed almost ethereal; his chocolate-brown hair shone healthily and his blue eyes gleamed behind the shelter of his black eyeglasses. Unlike the night before, when he had walked around in a shabby robe and an ashen, haggard, face, Heero's appearance was now well-groomed and almost refreshed. Duo could even detect the light scent of cologne in the air and he wondered what the Hell was going on.

_He better not be heading to another hot-date with that redheaded faggot,_ Duo grumbled to himself. _Or worse – is he going to see that Latin bitch again? He ain't gonna beg her to see his kid again today, is he? Shit._ The last thing he needed was the damn brat coming between him and Heero again.

"Looking sharp," he remarked, fishing for information; "Where are you off to so damn early?"

"I have a meeting," Heero replied quietly and closed his business bag. He took another swift look around the desk, making sure that he hadn't forgotten anything.

"Like you had last night?" _With that damn fancy faggot?_ Duo scowled dangerously. Heero paused his search of the desk and turned to Duo, frowning. It took him a moment to realize Duo was referring to the meeting he had missed last night when he had fainted and Jerry came over.

"No," he finally said and returned to scanning the desk for anything that might have been forgotten.

"Oh, I get it – it's like a fancy meeting with the big guns, right?"

"Yes," Heero murmured distractedly as he noticed that he had forgotten one folder on the desk and reached to put it in the bag as well. "If all goes well, I might sign a deal with one of the largest high-tech companies in the city. It's quite a profitable contract."

"Well, aren't we the successful businessman..." Duo muttered acidly.

Heero turned to look at Duo sternly. "With rent and child support to pay each month, I cannot afford not to be successful," he rebuked Duo's belittling comment. "This is the real world, Duo, where you have to work hard for your income, so get over yourself and start looking for a damn job. Don't assume I'm going to let you sponge off of me for more than a week, you're a burden as it is." He gestured at the empty beer bottles and open pizza box full of half eaten slices left on the coffee table.

"Shit man, would you _relax_?" Duo grumbled, "I said I'll get on it today, okay? Christ, Heero, cut me some slack here, will ya? I just got outta—I just got here two days ago!"

Heero frowned, apparently trying to figure out what Duo was about to say before correcting himself.  He looked at him lengthily and Duo stared back, glaring. Finally, Heero chose to ignore Duo's hostile attitude and turned back to the desk, checking if he had forgotten anything else.

"Search the web for local wanted ads," Heero spoke in a business-like manner as he scanned his desk. "See what you can find and make some calls." He gestured at the cordless phone by the computer monitor.

"Wait a minute man," Duo frowned, "You said you were gonna talk to that guy for me."

"What guy?" Heero turned to him, clearly annoyed.

"The garage guy!" Duo called irritably; " _Remember?!_ "'

"What _'garage guy'_?" Heero snapped petulantly.

For a moment, Duo just gawked at Heero, unable to believe that they were having the same conversation for a _second_ time in two days. Heero had promised to speak with his mechanic merely twenty four hours ago. He had already forgotten about it the day before, when he told Duo to stop watching TV and start searching for a job, and now he forgot about it _again!_

Duo sighed and tried to be patient as he spoke. "Your mechanic, Heero! You said you'll talk to him 'bout hiring me."

"I did?"

"Yes, you did! Yesterday – when we were walking your damn dog!"

_The squirt wasn't shittin' me,_ Duo realized; _The dude's a fucking **senile!** That's why he didn't remember the kiss. Am I really this fucking lucky? I wonder what else he might be able to forget..._

A thought, perhaps a memory of a dream, grazed the edges of his subconscious. Like a falling feather, it hovered faintly over the darkest regions of his mind.

_'...I'Ll JuSt...'_

_'...FoRgEt...'_

The small, distant and jumbled whisper echoed deep within his mind, barely surfacing above his subconscious, forever trapped in the void between the subliminal and the cognizant. The whisper was there, but it was never acknowledged, leaving him ignorant to the fact that the whispering voice was in fact Heero's.

"You promised you'd help me find a job," he reminded Heero, sighing.

"I know that!" Heero snapped crossly. "I intend to do that, but I—"

"Want me to look at some wanted ads," Duo finished the sentence for him, tired of listening to the same old tune. "Yeah, I know. Jesus Heero, you sound like a damn broken record."

"I'm only letting you stay here for a week," Heero reminded him irritably. "Don't assume you can sweet-talk me into letting you stay longer."

Duo snorted insolently. "Sweet-talk? Get real, man. I ain't got a sweet bone in me."

"Nevertheless," Heero muttered, finally turning to face Duo again; "You only have a few more days left. I suggest you make the most of them."

"You really want me outta here, don't ya?" Scowling, Duo crossed his arms over his chest and stiffened his pose, trying to look intimidating.

Heero did not reply, however the look in his eyes said it all.

"Jesus man! And here I thought you were at least willing to help out an old friend. Yanno, for old times' sake... maybe as a gesture for putting up with your _snotty ass_ all through shit."

Heero stared at him mutely. The look in his eyes suggested that he wished to say something, but his lips remained sealed. Eventually, he sighed resignedly and looked back down at his briefcase, closing it a second time.

"You were the unbearable one," he muttered quietly under his breath and prepared to walk to the door.

Duo laughed bitterly. "Yeah, okay, _right_. _I_ was the one people had to keep an eye on or they'd do something crazy. _Sure._ I looked out for _you_ and you know it! The least you can do is show me a little courtesy here, okay!"

" _Shut up, Duo!_ " Heero snapped angrily; "When have I _ever_ turned my back on you!?" he demanded; his Prussian blue eyes were wild and wrathful. "I got you out of there, didn't I?! I wasn't supposed to, but I did!"

"Say what!" Duo barked, flabbergasted and therefore furious. "Outta fucking where!?"

There was a sudden feverish look is Heero's eyes. He seemed frantic beyond reason; in fact, he seemed crazed.

"You never take anything seriously," he spoke quietly, weakly, before his eyes filled with anger and he found the strength to raise his voice again. "Everything is a joke to you! It's no wonder you got caught!"

"Caught?" Duo was beginning to panic. Was Heero talking about how he got shipped off to prison? Did he know? But... but Heero wasn't the one who got him out of the slammer; he had the parole board to thank for that one. What the Hell was Heero talking about then? What the fuck were they fighting about anyway? Heero wasn't making any sense!

"Da fuck are you babbling about!" he called, "Are you going _mental_ on me? Jesus Christ, man! Take your meds or sumthin'! What the Hell does this shit have to do with anything?"

" _Everything!_ " Heero shouted back; "Can't you see? I had no choice but to help you, Duo! You were my only friend! And I—I— letting you stay here – that's a final gesture – okay? I can't do more. _I can't!_ "

"I don't ge—" Duo had intended on finishing the sentence, but something in him just snapped at hearing Heero's argument and the words got caught in his throat. He stilled, all the fury draining out of him, venting out like poisonous gas. He stood there, eerily silent and unmoving.

Heero stilled as well, like a deer caught in the headlights. He fell silent, the color fading from his cheeks. He stared at Duo with wide, startled, eyes.

The silence stretched on, threatening to snap.

Chowder started to growl in a low, dangerous tone, responding to the menace it sensed in the room. Heero turned to look at his pet and the realization of something horrible gradually became apparent on his face. His whole body stiffened.

The dog barked once, and Duo blinked, consciousness returning to his eyes.

Chowder barked twice, and Heero whirled his head around to look up at Duo. Dark cobalt eyes glared back at him, glowering darkly. Duo stood tensely before him, his fists clenched angrily, his lips pressed tautly and his breathing heavy, labored with fury.

"You shouldn't have said that," Duo's voice came out in a cold, detached monotone. "I warned you," he hissed dangerously.

Heero took a step back, bumping with the desk behind him. When he realized he had nowhere to go, he looked up at Duo; his expression strained to remain steady even while his eyes gleamed with distress.

"Duo... I... I misspoke... I... I get confused sometimes... I..." he said hurriedly, almost panicked; "I didn't meant to—" he wasn't even able to finish his argument before Duo charged at him. Heero crashed against the wooden desk, knocking the flat-screen monitor forcefully against the window.

The glass cracked, threatening to shatter.

Chowder howled loudly and dashed at Duo, exposing its sharp fangs as it aimed to bite Duo's leg. But Duo was faster. He kicked the large dog straight in the chest, throwing it back against the coffee table. Both the dog and table were thrown back across the room, until they collided with the leather armchair.

Duo whirled around to face the desk again. Heero was just about to push himself off of it, so Duo swung his leg up and kicked him too – straight in the gut.

Heero let out a loud painful groan. The kick was hard. It sent him crashing back against the computer monitor once more. He curled in pain and clutched his abdomen. He was leaning heavily against the fallen monitor, pushing it harder against the cracked window. When he tried to move away, Duo kicked him again, sending him flying back forcefully.

The damaged glass couldn't take the pressure and broke. The monitor fell through, plunging down from the third floor and onto the sidewalk below. Heero barely managed to sit up before he fell as well. He only got a glimpse of the monitor shattering loudly against the pavement before he was yanked forward by Duo and thrown forcefully to the floor.

Office supplies went flying right along with him. He crashed face down onto the hardwood floor and immediately rolled over, raising his arms up to protect himself from another attack as Duo stormed at him again.

They struggled, rolling and quarrelling on the floor. Heero fought to push Duo off of him. It was a useless struggle. His technique was flawless; his retaliation was skillful and precise, however, it was strength he lacked. Duo on the other hand, fought messily and with pure brutal force. He overpowered Heero easily and pinned him to the floor, face down. He climbed on top of him and straddled the young man, locking his legs tightly around Heero's waist, preventing him from escaping. Still, Heero resisted, thrashing uselessly.

Duo grabbed him by a fistful of hair, pulled his head back forcefully and threw it back just as fast to the floor. Heero released a silent groan. He struggled to get up, trying to use his arms as leverage to push off the floor and throw Duo off of him, but his strength was hardly a match for Duo's, who pushed down against him. Heero crashed flatly against the floor with a short yelp.

Chowder dashed at Duo again, clawing at its owner's assailant with sharp paws. He tore through Duo's clothes, scraping his flesh and drawing blood.

Enraged, Duo flung his fist to punch the damn canine, but Chowder used the opportunity to sink its teeth in Duo's forearm.

Duo screamed madly. He shook his arm – still caught between the dog's clenched jaws – and struggled to break his hand free.

He rose off of Heero and attacked the damn dog. He kicked the large beast until it let go of his arms and tried to bite his leg instead.

"FUCK!" Duo screamed as his leg was bitten as well. He jumped back, pressing his bleeding arm against his chest. "Fucking beast!" he cussed furiously and kicked the dog sharply in the gut.

The large dog tried to bite Duo's already bleeding leg, but this time Duo was ready for it. Using his first leg as bait, he raised his other leg up and kicked Chowder on the top of its head just as he was about to bite his immobile leg. The blow was hard and direct; the dog was unconscious in a second.

"Fucking _bitch!_ " Duo cussed loudly, holding his bleeding forearm pressed against his chest. His black tank top was soaked with blood. "Fuck!" he grunted and tore it off. He wrapped it swiftly around his bleeding wound and gave the unconscious dog another kick for good measure.

The pain in his arm and leg sent jolts of awareness through every corner of his mind. He gasped painfully and took a few steps back, staring with wide eyes at the unconscious dog lying at his feet.

"Oh shit," he breathed in slight panic. Heero was going to _kill him_ for hurting the damn beast. Then, as he turned, he saw the young man lying on the floor, face down, his arms sprawled lifelessly at his sides and surrounded by a pile of fallen office supplies. His business bag lay at one side of the room, as though thrown there. His eyeglasses had been thrown all the way across the other side of room. The young man seemed to be unconscious.

Duo gaped, slack-jawed. Did Heero faint again? He didn't recall such a thing. In fact... he couldn't quite recall anything that happened these past few moments...

He noticed the broken window, the mess on the desk and the missing computer monitor. It looked like a struggle had taken place. Why—how—when? He couldn't remember. A moment ago he was asking Heero about that meeting he was going to... then what happened? All he could remember was Heero talking all crazy and shit, and then... nothing.

This wasn't the first time he had black out like this. Blackouts were just another long-lasting effect of the years he had spent as an addict. His mind was screwed up in too many ways for him to keep track of... Missing a few minutes of his life was not that uncommon. But still – what could have triggered such a blackout? What happened? Well, whatever it was – Duo had to make it go away before Heero woke up.

"Heero?" he dared to whisper his name. Hesitantly, he took a step forward, wary of approaching the unconscious young man. Kneeling down by Heero's side, Duo placed a hand on his shoulder and carefully turned him around so that he lay on his back. Much like the last time Heero had fainted, Duo felt his heart skip a beat at the sight of the young man's vulnerable features. He was so handsome; too good looking for his own damn good. Heero had always been physically appealing, but never approachable. Now, Heero's helpless state added to his appeal by a tenfold. The way he laid lifelessly before him, defenseless and frail, his soft hair falling over his eyes so delicately, his lips agape so invitingly... the sight was so erotic that the strong need to abuse and possess awoke in Duo's loins. He struggled to ignore it and instead tried to focus on aiding the young, painfully stunning and alluringly susceptible man.

"Heero?" he whispered the man's name warily, shaking him lightly. There was no response. Duo wasn't sure he wanted Heero to wake up yet. Perhaps he should get rid of the evidence first; evidence of what exactly – he wasn't sure, but it would be better to clean the place up first. Perhaps Heero's senility would work to his advantage again.

The first thing he did was to drag the unconscious canine into the laundry room and close the door behind it. His leg was still bleeding from the shallow bite the damn dog had delivered and when he turned away from the laundry room door, he saw that he had left a trail of blood all the way from the living room to the kitchen. Cussing, he picked up a kitchen towel, soaked it in water and hurried to wipe the blood off the polished hardwood floor. His arm was still wrapped in his tank top, which was already drenched with blood. The wound was still bleeding as Duo worked, shirtless, to clean the floor. His large silver cross dangled over his naked chest, bearing silent witness to his deeds.

"Feels like I've already been to this movie, yanno?" Duo muttered sarcastically, glancing at Heero to make sure that the man was still unconscious. "I tell ya, Quatre shoulda been thankful I actually bothered to clean the blood off his fancy floor..." he joked cynically, even though he was the only one capable of understanding the joke (which was in essence, not funny at all). He paused to stare at Heero. He felt like a criminal again. He tried to tell himself that he had done anything wrong, but something deep inside insisted on telling him otherwise.

By the time he was done, the kitchen towel was also completely soaked with blood. Sighing, he stood up heavily, holding the bloody towel in one hand and clutching his injured forearm against his chest. He walked over to the garbage dispenser and threw away the blood soaked towel. Now all he had to do was clean up the mess in the living room and rearrange the desk. It would hardly seem like nothing had happened, but it would make it easier for him to make a lame excuse for the remaining damage.

He had just finished pushing the coffee table and armchair back to place when suddenly, he heard Heero let out a small moan. He whirled around quickly to face him, his eyes wide and fearful. The young man was showing signs of waking up.

"Shit, shit, shit..." Duo mumbled anxiously. If Heero woke up and saw the mess and his arm bleeding like a dead giveaway— he didn't even waste the time thinking about it. As always, he had to be quick on his feet.

He fell to his knees in front of Heero and pressed his bloody hand hard over his mouth and nose, blocking his airways. The young man, who hadn't even opened his eyes yet, still barely on the verge of consciousness, let out a muffled moan into the bloody palm of Duo's hand. Duo pressed down harder.

Heero's fingers twitched. Despite being suffocated, he was still waking up.

Duo climbed on top of the young man quickly, straddling his hips. He leaned down, applying more pressure over Heero's airways. The strain caused his right arm to bleed harder; blood gushed out of the wound, pouring down his forearm, leaking from underneath the bloody black tank top wrapped around the wound. The blood trickled onto the palm of Duo's hand, oozed between his fingers and streamed gently down Heero's face. It looked like he was shedding tears of blood.

A pair of Prussian blue eyes snapped wide open – full of awareness and alarm. Heero moaned anxiously into Duo's bloody hand. He writhed beneath the burlier man, struggling to push Duo off of him. He flung both his hands up desperately, clutching Duo's bloody forearm in a useless attempt to move his muscular arm away. When he realized that his attempt was proving futile, he locked his gaze with Duo's, his eyes looking up in a silent plea, waiting for Duo to snap out of his madness and cease his lethal actions.

Duo stared blankly at Heero, drowning in the sight of his beautifully fearful blue eyes. A nostalgic feeling coated his heart warmly. He recalled seeing that same panicked look in Heero's eyes before. When exactly, he wasn't sure; and yet, he felt that they had struggled like this before. He recalled the terror he had seen in Heero's eyes. He recalled his desperate moaning, his hurt and anguish. The memories aroused him; he felt himself harden at the excitement. He pressed down harder, smirking at Heero.

"Déjà vu," he leered at the helpless young man writhing beneath him and observed with great pleasure as Heero's eyes widened even more, horrified. A sudden renewed surge of strength coursed through him; a burst of panicked adrenaline which enabled Heero to struggle once more. He broke his head free of Duo's suffocating hand and earned a few precious gasps for air. However his resistance was cut short. Duo subdued him quickly and continued pressing hard against his airways. His possessed eyes drank the sight of his suffocation hungrily.

"You really have become pathetic," he murmured manically. "Look at you, ya damn _mutt_ , you can't even fight me off." He sneered at Heero; a sick, twisted kind of smirk. "It looks like your bark is stronger than your bite."

Beneath him, Heero ceased his struggle. He stilled, as though overcome by some unseen force. He remained pinned underneath Duo, unmoving, staring numbly at his attacker.

"You pathetic _dog,_ " Duo mocked cruelly. He smirked as he reached a second hand behind his back. "I can rip your freaking balls off and you won't be able to do a thing about it!" He closed his fist tightly around the fleshy bulge he found under Heero's pants and yanked it forcefully.

"Mumff!" Heero yelped into the palm of Duo's hand and his whole body jolted up by reflex. Duo squeezed his thighs tighter around the young man's waist, preventing him of rising more than an inch off the floor and he jerked the limp flesh once more, laughing madly. All the while, his other hand was pressed tightly against the young man's airways.

Heero's eyes shifted around the room frantically. His body remained immobilized underneath Duo. All he could manage was to shake his head forcefully from side to side in a useless attempt to move away from the hand that was suffocating him.

Duo felt him mumble something unintelligible into the palm of his hand. He smirked. Heero's last breath was hot against Duo's bloody palm; it tingled pleasurably on his skin. He sneered darkly at his helpless victim.

"I could fucking jump you right now," he informed his prey slyly. His hand was still fondling Heero's limp manhood through the fabric of his suit-pants. "I'd fuck you 'til you bleed, but you'd cry for more!" he laughed and Heero's eyes widened frightfully.

"You'd like that, won't you, Heero?" Duo jeered him; _"Won't you!?_ " He squeezed him violently and Heero moaned pitifully; his eyes rolling back into his head. Soon, the Prussian blue orbs glazed over as his oxygen reserves depleted. His pale skin was turning a bluish shade. Duo felt like he too was suffocating, but his hand would not budge. He realized that he was killing Heero, but something inside of him refused to let go, keeping his hand in place, forcing him to push down even harder against Heero's mouth and nose.

He watched, strangely detached, as Heero's eyelids slowly fluttered shut as he lost consciousness once more. He felt the young man go limp underneath him.

Then, the front door was kicked open.

Duo jerked his hand back and jumped up to his feet.

On the floor, Heero gasped and gulped for air.

Duo whirled around just in time to see the redheaded faggot _Jerry_ rush into the apartment, aiming a gun at him:

"PREVENTER! FREEZE! PUT YOUR HANDS UP WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!"

Stunned, Duo stared at the redheaded man storming into the apartment. He was dressed in a simple pair of jeans and black T-shirt, but the pistol in his hand was enough to convince Duo that the person in front of him was indeed a Preventer agent. Due to the government's anti-militaristic regulations, only Preventers were allowed to carry weapons, and Duo took guns _very_ seriously.

He moved his arms up warily. He kept his gaze locked on Jerry as he put his hands behind his head. The bloody tank top he had wrapped around his wound loosened and fell to the floor, exposing the bleeding bite mark. His blood streamed down his raised arm, dripping down onto the fallen tank top. He stood, shirtless, his hands behind his head, glaring at the redheaded man aiming a gun at him.

"Step away from Hiro," Jerry commanded coldly as he stomped into the apartment, heading towards the semi-conscious young man lying by the desk.

Duo did as asked, moving two very slow steps to the side.

Down on the floor, Heero coughed and wheezed loudly. His eyes remained closed as he turned his head from side to side, gasping hoarsely for air. A large bloody handprint was smeared across his mouth and nose – evidence of Duo's crime.

Jerry hurried to Heero's side, kneeling down next to him while keeping his pistol aimed at Duo.

"Hiro," he called the young man's name softly, "Are you alright?"

Coughing, Heero struggled to sit up. Jerry helped him by offering his free hand.

Duo watched the two intently, not daring to make even the slightest move while having a pistol aimed at him. He could try to jump at the agent and snatch the gun away. He could probably apprehend the pistol quite easily, but he chose to do as ordered. He needed to see what Heero's reaction might be.

Jerry helped Heero to his feet; both his harsh green eyes and his gun aimed at Duo the whole time. Heero rose shakily, supported by Jerry. His coughing had mostly subsided, but his breathing was labored and raspy, interrupted by a small bursting cough every now and then. He let go of Jerry's helping hand and leaned back against the desk for support instead.

"Are you okay?" Jerry asked again, watching Heero with concern. Heero nodded his head repeatedly. Duo watched numbly as the young man raised a shaky hand to wipe the blood off his face and felt his heart sink painfully. It was his bloody handprint Heero was wiping away. He had hurt Heero, and while he could only vaguely recall his actions, he knew that he had done the unthinkable. Shit.

Duo cast his gaze down shamefully. _Da fuck came over me?_ He wondered, distressed. His heart was beating frantically, flooded with a sick forbidding feeling, and yet, he was extremely aroused. What the fuck?

"Put your hands behind your back," Jerry commanded Duo sternly. He pulled a pair of handcuffs out of his back pocket and approached the ex-con.

"Jerry, don't," Heero whispered hoarsely and then coughed.

"Are you fucking kidding me!?" Jerry exclaimed, turning to face Heero.

"This is just a... misunderstanding," Heero rasped and then coughed once more. "It's not—" he coughed again, "—his fault."

Duo stared at Heero, dumbfounded. Why was he covering for him?

"Hiro, don't bullshit me!" the Preventer agent insisted; "Look at you! Look at _him_!"

Heero turned to look at Duo's bleeding arm. His gaze was calm as he examined the bite-wound quietly. His eyes trailed slowly down to look at the large silver cross dangling over Duo's nude chest. Duo shifted his weight uncomfortably from side to side.

After a tense moment, Heero turned back to Jerry and pinned the agent's angry gaze with a harsh gaze of his own.

"What are you doing here?"

The redheaded man seemed stumped. "I was in the neighborhood so I thought I'd stop by," he explained; Duo could tell that he was lying. "It doesn't fucking matter what I'm doing here! It's a good thing I came over!" he called out, waving his gun to gesture in Duo's direction.

Duo's posture stiffened. He glared at the redheaded agent menacingly, ready to fight for his freedom if necessary. There was no fucking way he was going back to prison over this!

"This isn't what it looks like," Heero surprised Duo by denying what had obviously happened.

"So what _does_ it look like?" Jerry muttered sarcastically and gestured at Heero's bloody face.

"I had a nose bleed," Heero explained feebly and tried to wipe the dry blood which was still smeared across his mouth and nose. "I felt faint and I fell over the desk. It's nothing new."

"You fell so hard that you shoved the monitor through the window?" Jerry quirked a skeptic eyebrow.

"Yes," Heero replied tiredly, lacking the strength to pull off a convincing lie.

Duo stared at Heero, speechless. He wasn't imagining it – Heero was truly making excuses for him. Why the Hell?

"Duo was only trying to wake me up after I had fainted," Heero insisted quietly.

"Are you _sure?_ " Jerry asked, his eyes begging Heero for an honest answer.

"Yes," Heero said firmly, glaring at Jerry, daring him to challenge his claim once more.

"And the bite wound?" Jerry insisted, gesturing with his pistol at Duo's bleeding hand.

Heero's eyes shifted to look at the wound as well. He studied the way the blood oozed slowly from where sharp fangs had left their mark.

"Chowder panicked," he let out quietly and turned back to Jerry, pinning his gaze sternly, daring the agent to argue with his claim.

"Alright then," Jerry sighed, clearly disappointed. He finally let his hand down and turned his aim away from Duo. He tucked the handcuffs back into his pocket, but still held onto the gun. He glared at Duo, but didn't say another word about his suspicions.

"I saw a taxi waiting outside," he turned to Heero instead. "Are you going someplace?"

"I have a meeting," Heero murmured as he pushed himself away from the desk. He looked around, scanning the floor for something. Duo figured it was his eyeglasses, so he hurried to walk over to where they had been tossed aside and gave them back to Heero.

Heero stared at Duo's bloody hand for a moment, his eyes shining strangely. He accepted the glasses silently. He put them on shakily and adjusted them over the bridge of his bloody nose without meeting Duo's eyes the whole while.

"Let me give you a ride instead," Jerry offered, sending a menacing glance in Duo's direction before looking at Heero again.

"No," Heero grunted, "I'll take the cab."

"It's probably gone by now," Jerry pointed out.

"Then I'll get another one."

"Hiro—"

"Just leave," Heero muttered as he walked over to pick up his fallen business bag from the other side of the room. "You shouldn't even be here," he added with a sigh as he picked up the tossed bag. He placed it on the desk.

"Hiro, please don't start that again. I'm here because I'm your friend, okay?"

"You're here because of him," Heero gestured at Duo with his head, glaring harshly at Jerry.

Duo, who had been standing quietly the whole time, merely following the exchange of words between the two, frowned warily. What was Heero hinting at? What did he know? What did Jerry know?

Jerry's silence was enough of a confirmation for Heero, who scowled angrily at the undercover Preventer agent. "Did she send you on a babysitting job – is that it?"

For a moment, the redheaded man seemed at a loss for words. "I was driving by," he muttered petulantly; "that's all."

"That is a lie." Heero accused irately and Duo smirked, pleased. It seemed that he had been too quick to judge the nature of Heero's and Jerry's relationship; the two didn't seem to like each other very much.

"I don't appreciate you barging into my home waving a gun," Heero concluded; "I don't need a personal bodyguard."

"It sure doesn't look like that from where I'm standing."

Heero moved so fast that Duo could barely focus his eyes on his blurry image. In an instant, Heero had sneaked behind the tall agent, slipped one arm towards his weapon while his other wrapped tightly around Jerry's neck in a stranglehold. He pulled the older man back against him, forcing him down to his knees as he pressed the gun to his temple. The redheaded agent was taken completely by surprise. He froze, stunned, until he got his wits back together and began wriggling in Heero's hold, trying to break free.

Duo watched the scene, confused. He never would have guessed that Heero could still move like that. His technique was immaculate: perfect skill compensating for lack of strength against a taller, stronger, opponent. If Heero could still defend himself like that, then why didn't he fight back when he attacked him earlier? It didn't make sense. First he chose not to fight back and now he was making excuses for him? What was going on?

Unable to break free, Jerry let out an irritated grunt. "Fine, Hiro. You made your point," he grumbled. "Now _let go_!" he ended his implore with another attempt to break free: throwing his body forward in an effort to fling and flip Heero over. But Heero quickly let go before he could be pulled by Jerry's momentum and the redheaded man fell flat on his face. Heero remained standing steadily behind him, the gun in his hand as he glared down at the fallen agent.

Duo laughed. "Oh that was precious!" he called, amused.

Heero's glare quickly shifted towards him and Duo fell abruptly silent. His eyes widened in surprise when Heero raised his arm up and pointed the gun at him instead.

Jerry scrambled up to his feet and immediately caught on to the fact that he was standing in the line of fire. He took a quick step back, looking at Heero anxiously. The young man stood rigidly by his damaged desk, his face smeared with traces of dry blood and his blue eyes gleaming madly, furious. His arm was stretched forward tautly, the pistol wrapped securely in his hold. He was so tense that he was shaking, his finger close to pulling the trigger.

"Hiro," Jerry called his name cautiously, "What are you doing?"

"Déjà vu..." Heero whispered, panting frenziedly through clenched teeth, his angry eyes never breaking eye contact with Duo, who stood before him unmoving, gawking at him in morbid fascination. Neither young man dared to move. They merely glowered at each other tensely. Then, Duo smirked.

"Are you actually going to shoot me this time, Heero, or should I just call your bluff again?"

Heero's arm shuddered as though losing its nerve. He struggled to steady it, clenching his teeth tightly as his finger flexed around the trigger.

"Hiro," Jerry warned, "Put the gun down."

Biting on his lower lip, Heero fought to keep a steady aim. His whole body quivered visibly, betraying the inner struggle tearing through him.

"We've been in this standoff before, haven't we Heero?" Duo taunted cheekily. "All we're missing is an unconscious Ozzie on the floor n' a couple a bombs to take the place down afterwards."

"You got your _Ozzie_ right here," Jerry muttered and strode swiftly towards Heero. He snatched the gun from his shaky grip, scowling at the two.

"You were a bunch of _stupid kids_ then, and you're a couple of _infantile jerks_ now," he grumbled. "If you want to kill each other over an old grudge, go right ahead, but keep my gun out of this. No one's shooting anyone on my watch."

Mollified, Heero slumped back against the desk, his whole posture sagging tiredly, deflating in defeat. He raised a shaky hand up to push his long bangs back. Sighing quietly, he looked up again, shifting his eyes towards Duo. He observed him silently, his expression numb.

Duo didn't know what to make of the whole thing. Was this some sick, half-hearted attempt at revenge – or was Heero truly out of his mind? Is that why he needed a faggot Preventer agent to keep an eye on him? Was he dangerous to the public? Is that why he kept a safe distance from his son? Is that why he was on so much anti-psychotic meds? Is that why he was senile? It was – wasn't it!

"Shit, Heero," Duo let out, laughing with relief. "You had me going there for a second."

"Put a sock in it, Maxwell," Jerry snapped irritably. "You barely got away with your life."

Duo scowled darkly at the redheaded man. He distinctly remembered never giving the man his name. It was obvious that the man knew all there was to know about the two of them.

"Ozzies just love telling me that, don't they?" he muttered haughtily, sneering at Jerry. "So what are you like an ex-Ozzie with the flair for law and order? Jesus, I swear Preventer was established just so you guys wouldn't haffta stay out of a job. Are you getting a kick outta keeping tabs on us ex-pilots, making sure we don't flip out on people? I bet you feel like a real _true blue hero_ here, don't ya?"

"Duo, shut up," Heero huffed coldly. "The man was only doing his job."

"And a fine job he's doing, keeping the _Perfect Soldier_ in check. Good for you, Agent Hodgins. God knows I was never really good at it, so good for you," he taunted sarcastically.

"Maybe it's time I leave," the agent said; "you two _broads_ look like you could use some time alone," he grunted as he tucked his pistol back into its harness behind his back. "I'll be watching you, Maxwell," he warned while walking to the door.

Duo followed the man's every move as he left the apartment. His cobalt eyes narrowed with mistrust. He turned back to Heero, who was still leaning against his battered desk, looking ahead blankly.

For a while, they merely observed the floor in silence.

"We need to talk about this," Duo finally stated, his eyes were dead-serious as they gazed at the young man he had nearly just suffocated to death. He remained standing where he was, a few good feet away from Heero, feeling as though he was looking over a great wall, trying to reach over a concrete barricade. Heero wouldn't look at him.

"There is nothing to talk about," he spoke quietly as he studied the floor at his feet.

"I coulda killed you," Duo continued nonetheless; "but you covered for me – why?"

Heero shifted his gaze up briefly, then down again, looking troubled. "I'm late for my meeting," he mumbled and pushed off the desk, ready to leave the room.

"Screw the meeting," Duo hissed angrily and stomped over to block Heero's way to the corridor. He stood before him, bare-chested, tense and unwilling to budge. He could tell that his blunt closeness disturbed Heero, for the young man recoiled away from his molester however slightly.

Duo felt the advantage and stood his ground. He took a step closer just to spite Heero. They were so close that he could feel the man's hot breath brush against his face. He stared blankly at the dry blood smudged across Heero's face – evidence of his insane assault – before pinning Heero's gaze with a harsh glare.

"I want to know what's going on," he demanded; "Da fuck is wrong with you, Heero? One minute you're lying on the floor like a beat-up _puppy_ and the next you're threatening to _shoot_ me? What da Hell is going on?"

Heero almost flinched; almost, but not quite, just enough so that Duo would notice his obvious recoil.

"I wouldn't have shot you," Heero admitted quietly, weighing his words carefully.

"But you wanted to, didn't you?"

Heero lowered his gaze down shamefully. "Maybe. I don't know. I was... angry."

"And if that _faggot_ _Ozzie_ wouldn't have shown up prancing like some _warrior princess_ , you woulda done it, _right?_ "

"If Jerry hadn't shown up, I would have been dead."

He had him there, Duo realized, and was suddenly painfully aware of the dry blood smeared across Heero's face, staining his nose, cheeks and upper lip: a bloody handprint he had applied as he nearly suffocated the man to death.

"Then I guess we're both crazy," Duo concluded bitterly. Shame filled him and he sighed, tired suddenly. He turned to the sofa and slumped down on it heavily. The black leather squeaked in protest.

"How come you're friends with an _ex-Ozzie?_ " he asked, head bowed so he wouldn't have to look at Heero with guilty eyes.

"We met in AA."

"That's awfully honest of you," Duo pointed out as he looked up again. "Your turn," he said, looking intently at Heero; "Truth or dare?" He asked, raising his hand in a gesture of a gun aimed at Heero. This wasn't a threat. This was a request. His eyes gleamed with a silent hope that the young man would take the challenge. He hoped he won't dare him to leave before the week was over.

"Truth," Heero surprised him as he leveled his gaze with Duo's. "Tell me what you meant when you said _'déjà vu'_?"

"Déjà vu?" Duo marveled at the odd question. He lowered his hand and reached to scratch his head. "Hey man, you were the one who said it. You were referring to that time you broke me out of that OZ base. You were bluffing with a gun then too."

Heero nodded in confirmation. "Then you don't remember."

"Remember what?"

Heero sighed. "Never mind," he mumbled. "Just forget it."

_'...i'Ll JuSt...'_

_'...fOrGeT...'_

Duo shuddered, suddenly feeling very cold. A dark forbidding feeling knotted in the pit of his stomach, causing his whole inside to clench painfully. Was that Heero's voice he had just heard?

"No, man, tell me. This day can't get more fucked up than it already is, so I'm ready for just about anything."

"I said never mind," Heero insisted and finally walked away, heading for the bathroom. He closed the door behind him. After a while, the door reopened and Heero stepped out. His face was clean after he had washed the traces of blood off. He had also combed his hair and rearranged his suit to be presentable once again. He did not look at Duo as he walked over to the coffee table to get his business bag.

"You're leaving?"

"Yes," Heero replied quietly and walked to the door.

"Heero," Duo called after him from the sofa. He turned to face the door and saw that Heero was standing by it, a hand on the doorknob. His back was rigid as he waited to hear what Duo had to say.

"Last one," Duo requested and he knew that Heero would understand. "My turn."

After brief consideration, Heero nodded, still facing the door. His fist clenched around the doorknob tightly. "Truth or dare?" he asked quietly.

"Dare," Duo hurried to choose. "I dare you to let me see this week through," he said; "I know you want me outta here—"

"More than anything," Heero cut-in and surprised Duo, who paused for a moment.

"—But please don't kick me out just yet."

Heero opened the door. He still hadn't turned to face Duo. "Four more days and you're out of here," he concluded and then finally left.

*             *             *

 

**To be continued in Chapter 07: Lolita:**

"I'm done listening to your lies, Duo," Quatre called back from the hallway. "I'm afraid I'm not as tolerant as Heero; I won't be swayed by empty promises."

oOo

Something fell from his grasp and landed on the bed with a soft thud. Duo's eyes darted in the direction of the sound. It was his folding combat knife. He had just let go of a bloody knife!

"Holy Hell!" he cried and shot off the bed in fright.

oOo

"Hiro has no business harboring you in his home," Marissa muttered reproachfully.

" _Harboring_ me?" Duo hissed dangerously; "I ain't no fugitive, bitch."

"You might as well be," she retorted spitefully. "What you did is beyond the pale."

oOo


	9. Chapter 07: Lolita

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rated MA for sex, prostitution, underage solicitation, drug abuse, blood and violent death. Also, there are some racist comments that by **no means** represent my views!

**One Week - Part 9/20**

**Chapter 07: Lolita**

The night was quiet and the air was still. Stars would have twinkled brightly if not for the massive metallic casing of the L4 colony which concealed them from sight. Nighttime illumination painted the colony's empty streets in dim halos of ghostly blue and green light. L4-1584 was commonly known as the "Space Age Dubai". It was the wealthiest and most advanced space colony in the Lagrange 4 cluster; an ultramodern city located in the desolate vacuum of space. One of its most prominent features was a high-tech business district full of towering high-rises of unique and modernistic architecture. At nighttime, the tall skyscrapers lit the colony with an impressive display of bright and colorful lights.

Many mosques were scattered around the colony; their tall and slim minarets rose high above the surrounding structures. The most outstanding mosque was a perfect replica of the Jumeirah Mosque of Dubai. It was one of the most photographed buildings in the colony and an outstanding example of pre-AC era Islamic architecture. The sight of the mosque at night was exquisite; gentle lighting created a dramatic and most impressive effect.

A low and steady hum vibrated through the stale colony's air; nightly silence engulfed hollow streets. Various machines, pumps and vents worked to keep the occupants alive, releasing oxygen into the air and filtering CO2 gases. The life-support's hum was familiar to anyone living in space. Its soothing whirring rippled through the night in invisible waves.

High-rise apartment buildings towered over bare roads. At one such luxury-apartment high-rise, a bright yellow light was shining brilliantly on the penthouse floor. It was a large wall-to-wall corner-window overlooking a prestige residential area. The penthouse towered at least fifty stories above the street. If one would have been walking past the building, one would have had to raise his head up high to get a look at what was taking place by that window.

A couple was having wild intercourse against the clear glass. The light shone brightly around them, creating a faint silhouette, but not enough to obscure their features completely. The woman, her looks and age undetermined from far below, was standing nude in front of the window, her arms stretched forward to lean on it and keep steady as her partner embraced her waist from behind. She hunched against the window, moving rapidly back and forth with the force of each of the man's thrusts. The rhythm was maddening, fast and brutal. Her breasts bounced wildly. Her mouth hung open as she called out in ecstasy.

Her partner was concealed from sight. However, if one would have looked closely, one would have seen the strange tail bouncing left and right, peeking behind his back as he moved against the woman in front of him. The bizarre snake-like body swung from side to side, moving wildly to the couple's feral beat. One would have to presume that the bouncing snake was by no means a tail, but rather a very long _braid_.

Duo grunted throatily as he came. He continued moving for a few moments longer, sliding slowly in and out of his partner as he rode the last waves of his orgasm. She moaned and writhed, leaning with one arm against the window; her free hand was tucked between her legs. Her knees buckled as she came with the aid of her fingers. He pulled out and quickly yanked the soiled condom off his manhood, throwing it carelessly to the floor. It landed with a wet 'splat!' next to the woman's feet. She was a young brunette, about twenty; not overly pretty, but pleasant enough to look at. As Duo turned to walk away, turning his naked ass to her, she remained leaning against the window, catching her breath.

One done, Duo walked to the bed at the other side of the room and reached for a pack of smokes resting on the nightstand, next to an open pack of condoms. There were faint rows of powdery white remnants on the night-table, next to a rolled money bill and a combat knife, its jagged blade covered with white powder. Next to it was a cheap green plastic lighter; Duo used it to light his smoke.

The young woman bent to pick her panties off the floor, presenting her nude behind to Duo, who watched her from the bed, blowing smoke into the air. She slipped into the panties quickly and walked to the dresser by the bed. She checked herself in the mirror hanging above it, observing her naked body as she fixed her hair, gathering it up before deciding against it and letting it go, allowing her flowing brown hair to cascade down her back once again. Her bright pink mini-dress was lying discarded on the floor. She picked it up and dressed.

Duo leaned back against the headboard, smoking as he watched her dress.

"Pink ain't your color," he observed coolly.

She laughed. "Oh yeah? And what is?"

He observed at her silently for a moment and then smiled slyly. "I haffta say green."

"Yeah right," she rolled her eyes and flipped her long brown hair back. She turned to Duo and extended her hand out to him. Duo reached for the nightstand again and opened a drawer. He pulled out a pack of rolled cash and threw it to the young woman. She accepted it silently and counted the bills.

"Yanno, if you were a real professional, you'd know better than to count the stack in front of a client," he berated her playfully. "Besides, didn't Emma tell you I'm good for it?"

The young prostitute smirked and stashed the money into her purse. "She also said you get so zonked you forget to pay. She had to take the money from the drawer while you were snoring like a pig."

Duo ignored her criticism and took another drag on his smoke. "Say, can you get me an Asian girl next time?" he asked casually as he exhaled the smoke in her direction.

"Sure," she said as she prepared to leave. "Do you want us to come together or just her?"

"A threesome sounds cool," he mumbled and leaned his head back against the wall, gazing up at the ceiling while he smoked. "But I don't want you. Get me a blonde."

"Fuck you," the young woman grunted and stomped to the door. "Get your own damn blonde, you damn _flaky_."

She left, angry. He could hear her slam the front door behind her as she stomped out of the lavish penthouse. Ignoring her sassy attitude, Duo continued to smoke quietly, gazing numbly at ceiling. He had no idea how much time had passed before he heard the front door open again. Someone stepped into the apartment and threw a set of keys onto a wooden surface.

Duo sighed. He rolled over and stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray by the bed. He wiped the leftover white powder off the wooden night table and then dusted it off his hands. He folded his switchblade and threw it into the drawer. Silently, he got up and walked stark naked into the adjoin bathroom to take a shower. It wasn't long before there was a knock on the door.

"Duo?" he heard a man's voice call softly. He turned the water stream on full-blast, letting it beat down strongly on his head and pretending like he hadn't heard his name being called. The person behind the door soon gave up and walked away. Duo leaned his head against the clean white porcelain and closed his eyes, sighing tiredly.

*             *             *

Bright morning light gushed violently through the wall-to-wall corner-window, flooding Duo's bedroom with white and unforgiving brilliance. He had neglected to turn on the damn switchable window, which changed the glass from transparent to opaque, thus preventing the strong invasion of light.

The colony's main mosque was located near the prestige apartment building. Unfortunately, that meant that Duo could clearly hear the Muezzin call loudly from the minaret, summoning Muslims for mandatory morning prayers.

Groaning miserably, he rolled his naked body over and threw a pillow over his head in a useless attempt to block out the persistent Arabic chanting. Sheets tangled around his hairy legs and he kicked them off violently.

_Fucking morning already!_

Faint noises could be heard from the kitchen. He forgot to close the bedroom door as well. Someone was making breakfast. He could smell it and it made his stomach rumble and turn with either nausea or hunger, he wasn't sure which.

Duo struggled to fall asleep again, but the nagging feeling in his stomach refused to fade. To top that, a nasty headache was building up, pulsing in his temples. Cussing, he yanked the pillow off his head and threw it aside. Getting up sluggishly, he picked up a dirty pair of baggy boxers off the floor and covered himself. He walked out of the room barefoot and bare-chested. His long braid, nearly completely undone and messy, bounced slightly against his muscular backside, its tip kissing his behind with each bump. It was beginning to get a bit too lengthy and a nuisance, but he didn't have the heart to cut it short. His braid meant too much to him; it was the only thing that remained with him while everyone and everything else tended to disappear.

More of the excessively bright light flooded the main living area of the large penthouse. A long wall-to-wall window stretched across the lounge, offering a magnificent view of the colony's skyscrapers against the metallic casing colonists called "sky". Duo didn't dare to turn to have a look, unwilling to worsen his hangover further. He turned to the opposite direction, to the kitchen, instead.

A young blond man was occupying the modern white kitchen; he was dressed in a dark-blue business suit and preparing breakfast. A fresh pot of coffee stood on the kitchen island, which also served as a breakfast bar. Duo took a seat on one of the bar chairs facing the kitchen and poured himself a steaming cup of black coffee. He watched the other man numbly as he sipped the bitter beverage.

"You got in late last night," he commented hoarsely, stating the obvious just to break the tense silence.

"I had some work to finish up in the office," the blond man explained as he carefully poured two sunny-side-up eggs from a pan and onto a plate. "We had some trouble at the lab." He turned to Duo, carrying the plate in his hand. "Would you like some?"

Duo shook his head. "You work your ass off, Quatre," he muttered bitterly. His voice was raspy and his nose was runny; he had inhaled a little more than he should have last night. He let out a dry cough, wiped his nose with the back of his hand and sipped some more coffee to chase away the irksome feeling in his throat.

"You slave away day 'n night, while all you should really do is enjoy life. Fuck, if I had all this doe lying around, I wouldn't be wasting my time in no lab and I wouldn't give a fuck about figuring out that damn system. Da fuck you tinkering with that shit anyway? Didn't you have enough of that mind-fucker during the war?"

"The ZERO System can be used for more than just fighting, Duo," Quatre muttered crossly. "I have responsibilities to my father's company, not to mention much to atone for building the system... If we could utilize the System the way I intend it to be used, so many could benefit from it."

"And you make a shitload of money while you're at it, sure, I get it. But I gotta tell you Quat, you're barking up the wrong tree. I took a trip on that thing once when that asshole Ozzie forced me to, and I can tell you right here, right now – that devil can't be tamed. That damn system ain't meant for good, just evil."

"I beg to differ," Quatre insisted. "If my research succeeds, it will could be utilized to help people."

"Shit, if you really believe that then that damn thing fucked you up worse than it did me. You're even crazier than I thought..." Duo smirked nastily. "After all the shit we've been through because of that devilish thing, we don't owe anyone anything, yanno? So what if you created a monster? Destroy it, don't try to make it into something it ain't. There are plenty of other ways for you to make money besides doing the devil's work. Why waste so much time and resources on that fucking machine when you know it's always up to no good?"

"You might choose to waste your time and money on drugs and whores, Duo, but I for one have more important things to do with it," Quatre hissed poisonously.

"Hey!" Duo protested; "I ain't done none of that shit!"

"Please, Duo, cut the crap. I know what goes on in here when I'm not home."

"Yeah, well, I didn't know your _'spider senses'_ went that far!" he mocked, referring to Quatre's strange ability to sense things no one else could.

"Shut up, Duo. The doorman told me all about it."

"Is that the same doorman who thought I was some _homeless junkie_? That nigger don't know shit."

Quatre stared at him in disbelief. "I can't believe you'd call him that!"

"Hey, I call 'em as I see 'em," Duo shrugged carelessly and reached his hand to take some food out of Quatre's plate. He chewed on it spitefully, being purposefully obnoxious.

"Apparently so does my doorman," Quatre retorted.

It's been over a month since Duo showed up at the entrance of the prestige apartment building, carrying nothing but a battered old gym bag and a pitiful look on his face. It was late at night when the doorman called Quatre, apologizing excessively as he explained that _'some homeless punk'_ was making a racket downstairs, insisting that security let him into the lobby. The doorman clarified that the unwelcomed guest recklessly insisted that he knew him and that was why he was calling so late at night. The minute the guard gave him Duo's name, Quatre hurried to take the elevator down to the lobby.

When he was finally facing Duo, he saw a complete wreck; it was no wonder the doorman had mistaken Duo for a homeless man. The young man's baggy and black attire was filthy, smelly and sloppy; his complexion was pale and ill; his shabby long braid was coming undone, stray hairs spiking out in every direction. His hair seemed straw-like and brittle; it reeked of a terrible stanch. His cobalt eyes were bloodshot and watery, staring blankly at Quatre.

Considering that the last he had seen Duo, three years ago, he had been a vital, amiable and cheery teenage boy, Quatre was alarmed and concerned when he found himself facing an obviously troubled twenty-year-old man. He didn't even wait for Duo to speak or offer an explanation; he immediately guided him into the elevator.

The ride up to the penthouse was quiet and tense. He couldn't think of anything to say as he watched Duo stand quietly next to him, sniffling and wiping his runny nose with a trembling hand. His wrist and fingers were bony; his brittle-looking fingernails were cracked and dirty. Duo caught him staring at them for longer than he should have, and quickly shoved his hands into his pockets. Their eyes met for a brief moment. Quatre could clearly sense Duo's anxiety. He knew better than to speak up or ask useless questions. The man was clearly coming off of something; he seemed on edge, about to snap at any given moment.

Wordlessly, he showed Duo into the lavish penthouse. The young man paused for a moment to take-in the unfamiliar surroundings, staring lengthily in the direction of the wall-to-wall windows and balcony, which provided a breathtaking view of illuminated skyscrapers at night. He then turned to Quatre, gaping at him numbly. Worried, the shorter man tried to offer a reassuring smile, but it faltered.

Duo finally opened his mouth to speak and asked: _'Where can I crash?'_

Quatre showed him to the guestroom and before long Duo fell deeply asleep. He slept straight through the following day. Concerned for his well-being, Quatre stepped into the room every now and then, to make sure that he was still breathing. As he looked at Duo in his pitiable state, he soon suspected that he was gazing upon a hopeless drug addict. Now, four weeks later, Quatre was certain of it.

"You're unbelievable," he muttered as he turned to eat his breakfast.

Duo smirked cynically. "Yeah, that's what she said."

"Only because you paid her to," the blond man grumbled as he scooped a forkful of eggs, avoiding the sunny-side-up Duo had munched on with his hands.

"Touché," Duo let out dryly. "I'm getting kinda fond of these games."

"And I'm getting sick of them."

"Ouch," Duo muttered in mock-offense. He allowed Quatre to eat quietly for a while and used the time to finish his coffee. It was no damn good without a smoke, but Quatre hated it when he smoked in his face.

As soon as he was finished, the blond man prepared to leave for work. "Try doing something useful with your day," he told Duo before he left. "And don't bring any more of _those women_ into my home."

"Sure, man, whatever," Duo replied with a wide yawn, paying no heed to the young man's warning.

"You're an asshole," Quatre let out with annoyance and left, slamming the door behind him.

"What a pussy," Duo muttered after the man left, and went back to his room in search for some good ol' All-American Drug to get his morning started.

*             *             *

The view from Quatre's balcony was astounding. During daytime, Duo could see the whole colony stretch before him, the horizon twisting up with the round structure of the colony, completing a full circle. If he looked directly upwards, he could see streets, buildings, green parks and roads above him. The artificial gravity kept them from tumbling down on top of him. For a person born on Earth, the sight could be quite disturbing and even frightening, but as a colony-born, Duo was used to having people walk up above where one would expect the sky should be. He simply ignored it and focused on what lay before him.

The penthouse balcony overlooked the high-tech business district where Quatre worked. He could see the damn nuisance of a mosque up ahead. A cool breeze – a luxury afforded on the more prosperous space colonies, such as L4 – blew swiftly past the fiftieth story apartment. Leaning down on the balcony's stone railing, Duo took a drag of his smoke and closed his eyes, enjoying the wind.

There was no wind where he came from. The L2 colonies were not even close to the high standards the L4 residents were accustomed to. The people on L2 were grateful to have the air vents work properly; one never even considered the possibility of having a gust wind blow by.

All in all, wind was something new in space. He recalled how, just about three years ago, Heero and he infiltrated the L3-X1999 colony, during the Marimeia Uprising. The colony had been under construction, and since it was new, it had been fitted with whatever machinery responsible for creating wind.

As part of their efforts to rescue Vice Foreign Minister Relena Darlian from her abductors, Heero and he went up to one of the high rooftop on the colony, trying to spot the helicopter escaping along with the kidnapped official. It was a tall high-rise, and it was very windy. He vividly recalled how the strong wind had tousled Heero's wild chocolate-brown hair and how it had flowed through his green tank top, lifting the fabric off his muscular torso and exposing his tanned skin in a most enticing way.

Smiling deviously, Duo relished in the memory of Heero's taunt arms holding onto a pair of binoculars as he watched the chopper take Relena to the spaceport. He had seen those arms perform so many incredible things. The memory was more than tantalizing.

Duo was never really sure to which gender he was more attracted to. Males or females, it didn't matter to him all that much. He would fuck whatever piqued his arousal at the time. Strangely enough, despite his obvious good looks, Heero never had that effect on him. Duo supposed that he had considered Heero too much of a friend to start thinking about him in a sexual way. Now, Heero was no longer a friend, which perhaps explained why he was standing on a balcony, dreaming of the young man's magnificent body...

Not that it mattered. It has been nearly three years since he had last seen Heero; four years since he had last considered him a friend. He could not pin-point the exact reason why things changed, but he knew that they had. Something changed when the war ended. Heero was the first to depart from the MO2 satellite, mere hours after the battle was over. He hadn't even said goodbye; Heero just left, never to be heard of until another menace had threatened the Earth and Space.

"The selfish prick," Duo grunted and threw his burnt up cigarette down, watching it tumble fifty stories down, gliding with the wind.

Three years ago, a whole damn year after disappearing, Heero actually had the nerve to call him up again with another mission. A mission! Not even a _'hello, Duo'_ before he spat out cold orders – warning him of an attempt to assassinate Quatre and commandeer the Gundams. Hell, during the whole thing, Heero didn't even turn to look him in the eye; he avoided him as much as he could. Duo couldn't even recall being alone in the same room with him during that mission. Heero was determined to stay away, the cold-hearted bastard! Da fuck he ever do to him!?

Then, a few months later, the Marimeia Uprising broke out and there they were again – stuck together on yet another mission to save the damn world. While they were forced to work together during that final mission, Duo could clearly tell that Heero was just bearing him as a necessary evil: the guy actually pretended to have fallen asleep during a flight! They could've used the opportunity to catch up on things, maybe even try to patch up whatever was wrong, but _no_... Heero was too much of an ass to give a shit about their friendship. All he ever cared about was acing that mission and saving that Relena girl. Typical Heero: the man could never see beyond the mission.

So to Hell with him, Duo decided. If Heero couldn't find any use for him without a war to fight – then so be it. It was Heero's choice to end their friendship and Duo would be damned if he'd be the one asking for it to continue. If Heero didn't give a shit anymore – then so would he! The guy could barely function as a human being anyway, so what did he care? Heero wouldn't miss him for a second, so he shouldn't have any regrets either. Their friendship was dead because Heero terminated it; killing was the only thing the jerk was good at.

Duo didn't need Heero anyway. If anything, Heero was the one who needed _him_ ; needed him to teach him how to be more than just a brainwashed _super-soldier_. Heero needed _him_ , not the other way around. If Heero couldn't recognize that – then fine! Duo had his own life to live.

Once all the damn fighting was over, he went back to L2 and crashed at Hilde's place. Even though he had first met Hilde when she was foolishly serving as an OZ cadet, she had eventually proven herself an essential ally during wartime and therefore worthy of his trust... well, to a degree. A lot of help _she_ was when that loony OZ Lieutenant Trant landed the fucking ZERO Gundam at the salvage yard, threatening to blow the whole damn colony to smithereens if he didn't come with him and agree to play test-pilot on that devilish machine. Not even a _'don't do it, Duo!'_ or some of that _'come back safely'_ bullshit. No, she just stood there, gaping like an idiot as he went along with the crazy tech-officer and nearly lost his damn mind during the test. But, to be fair, she _did_ come to his rescue afterwards, bringing him Deathscythe so he could kick Trant's ass, so... yeah. She wasn't all bad.

He didn't have anywhere else to go when the war ended and since Hilde was a stupid girl who actually thought she was in love with him, he took advantage of her hospitality and crashed at her place again. She gave him a room to sleep in and a job at her father's salvage yard, but God forbid she would ever put out, the damn Catholic _saint_. Not that the damn _butch_ was such a looker; he could do so much better, but still – if he was living with a _girl_ , it was only natural to expect her to be an available source of warm pussy, right?

_Wrong_. Hilde was a _fridged_ bitch. He had no choice but to find pleasure elsewhere. So he went out – a _lot_ – and Hilde resented him for it. He would spend the whole night out, drinking and fooling around with whomever, and then he would sleep in late and neglect his duties at the yard. Hilde would be furious at him each time he showed up late, if at all.

Fucking bitch! She just didn't get it – he had done enough shit to last him a lifetime. He didn't need any more duties and responsibilities. To Hell with everything; now that it was finally possible, he just wanted to live a little.

Eventually, Hilde got sick of him and kicked him out, so he took his junk elsewhere. He had more than enough friends who'd let him crash on their sofas. For a few months, he was homeless, but never without a roof above his head. Thanks to the ESUN annual grant, he had more than enough money to keep a steady supply of booze and women flowing. He never stayed at one place for too long; he never even considered using the money to get a permanent place of residence. All he cared about was having fun. He spent his days and nights in search for _the thrill_. His thrill threshold climbed constantly higher, until it became impossible to reach. Numb and desperate, he turned to the same substances he had abused on the streets of L2 as a child. Cocaine provided a cheap thrill that chased away the grip of numbness he felt inside; an addictive rush pumping through his veins, offering delusions that mimiced the kind of life he could handle.

At long last, Duo felt _free;_ liberated of guilt and pain, of memory and hurt. He finally felt like he was actually _alive,_ and not merely _living._

But after two years of using, Duo didn't feel so invigorated anymore. He had sunken to a dark pit and he was aware of it. Drugs stopped doing it for him like they used to. The only reason he was still using was because he couldn't function without them. Instead of depending on crack-cocaine for _the thrill_ , he now depended on it just so he could function normally.

That was inaccurate. There was nothing normal about the way he felt. He was numb again, almost dead inside. Nothing did it for him anymore; not the drugs or the whores. He was no longer free. He was a captive of his own addiction. He wanted out. Really, he did. He just didn't know how to get out of the wall-less prison he was living in. There was no lock for him to pick, no door for him to break. He was trapped inside his own addiction. Not even Heero could breach through _those_ walls – and he had seen Heero do the impossible on more than one occasion. The guy had bailed him out of hopeless situations, saving his life again and again, but there was no Heero to depend on anymore. The guy had split; vanished. He couldn't count on Heero anymore.

He truly thought that he was cool with that, but apparently he wasn't. Hurt and anger deluded him into thinking that he couldn't care less if Heero chose to breakup their friendship, but the truth was that he wasn't ready to accept it just yet. He didn't understand what went wrong – and it was killing him. He would have liked nothing more than to look Heero up and turn to him instead of Quatre, but that wasn't an option. He couldn't find Heero and in his despair, all he could think of was turning to the only person he knew would be kind enough towards him – and that person was Quatre.

The problem was that Quatre was too forgiving, too lenient and too soft on him. Quatre went easy on him – so he kept using. Heero would have treated him harshly. He would have locked him in a room and forced him to go cold turkey. He would have broken his nose with one punch if he ever caught him snorting cocaine. That was what Duo needed right now; that was the only way he would ever break the habit.

He found himself thinking a lot about Heero lately. It angered him, because he knew that Heero would never bother to even spare him half a thought. The guy obviously moved on, wherever he was. It was clear that he didn't wish to be found. Even Quatre had no idea where he was. The ex-04 pilot had mentioned that he had even contacted Foreign Minister Relena Darlian, but the bitch refused to give him any clear answers. She told Quatre that she knew for certain that Heero didn't wish to see any of them ever again. She said that if they wanted to find him, then they should leave her out of it; she will not betray his wishes.

So that was that. Heero didn't want to have anything to do with him. Duo felt like such a _sorry-ass loser_ for even thinking about him as much as he did. He simply couldn't get Heero out of his head; the ex-01 pilot haunted him like a damn plague!

"Shit," he muttered and turned away from the banister; "This is fucked up."

He needed something to take his mind off shit, so he headed back to his room for another dose; anything to get thoughts of and regret about Heero out of his head.

*             *             *

"Look at this place!" Quatre exclaimed angrily as he circled the guestroom, picking discarded clothes and garbage from the floor. The short blond man was wearing a fine tailored business suit, yet he walked around the room, cleaning up like a maid.

"Allah help me, you've turned this room into a pigsty!" he gestured at the room with hands carrying a load of dirty laundry.

"And pork is like not Kosher or sumthin', right?" Duo replied dryly, not even sparing Quatre a glance as he spoke. He was lying in bed, surrounded by wraps of various snacks and candy bars. He was holding a burning cigarette in his one hand, while he used the other to wipe crumbs off his black T-shirt. He had no pants on; only a pair of black briefs. His hairy legs were sprawled over the bed casually, surrounded by filth.

"Kosher is a _Jewish_ term," Quatre grumbled as he picked up more items off the floor; "The Muslim term is Haraam, you idiot."

"Kikes, Muzzies, good ol' faithful Christians... whatever," Duo muttered and took a drag on his smoke. He finally looked up in Quatre's way, blowing smoke in his direction. "We all eat chicken, right?" he smirked; "By the way, how come you have a Kike's name, but you're Muzzie? That don't make no fuckin' sense."

Quatre stared at him in disbelief. "Are you being purposely disrespectful?"

"No, I'm just _curious,_ " Duo muttered and rolled his eyes; "How come you're called _Winner,_ when your old man was a Muzzie? Was your mother Jewish or sumthin'? Is she from that Israeli colony? Yanno, I heard that them people are _stinking rich!_ That why you got all this doe lying around?" He smiled sneakily; "Did your daddy marry into money and took your mommy's name with it? What a man!"

" _Shut up_ , _Duo!_ " Quatre exclaimed angrily. "That's none of your damn business! I'm sick of this! If you really want my help, then you're going to have to get a hold on yourself and–"

"—go to rehab, yeah man, I heard you the first _thousand_ times. I ain't that zonked that I keep forgetting shit. I know what I came here for."

"Forgive me for being skeptic," Quatre muttered dryly. "So far all you've done is talk about getting clean but you keep using!"

"Hey!" Duo shot up to sit on the bed; his braid jolting up and down behind him. "Cut the crap, will ya? I ain't holdin' nuthin' serious on me!"

Quatre glared at him wrathfully. "What kind of an idiot do you take me for? I know very well when you're all lit up or when you're coming off a bad trip. I should have kicked you out for bringing illegal substances into my home, but I didn't."

"So? Do you want me to grovel like some bitch and thank you? It was just a couple of Apple Jacks... maybe a few Roofies– and that don't even count!"

"You're missing the point, Duo!" Quatre called out in frustration. "It doesn't matter what kind of drug you do – they're all the same! I want this to stop!"

"Stop acting like a stuck-up bitch! Fuck it, man. I don't need this shit," he grumbled and fell back against the bed, crossing his arms over his chest as he glared up at the ceiling. "I shoulda gone to Heero."

Quatre sighed, frustrated. "Then why didn't you?" he tried to speak calmly, hoping to get through to Duo.

Duo fell silent and stared numbly at the ceiling.

Quatre placed the items he had collected on the bed as he stood over the young man lying on it, studying with sympathetic, yet stern, ocean-blue eyes. "You know he would have kicked your sorry ass for sinking so low. At least I'm willing to help."

"Yeah, by sending me away to be someone else's problem," Duo muttered resentfully. "Big help there, Q-man. Heero woulda handled it himself. It woulda been rough, but he woulda done it."

Again Quatre let out an aggravated sigh. "Then go find Heero."

Duo continued to scowl grumpily at the ceiling. He kept his mouth shut, though it seemed to Quatre that the young addict had something to say. He took a seat on the edge of the bed, looking at Duo curiously.

"Did you try looking for him?" he asked softly.

"No," Duo lied, even though he knew Quatre could sense it.

"How come?" The young businessman asked anyway.

Duo rolled over to lie on his side, folding his legs into a fetal position and thus turning his back to Quatre.

" 'cuz," he whispered, exhaling tiredly.

"I thought you two were close," Quatre continued gently; "You were the closest to him out of the group. If anyone can find him, it's you. You've done it before."

"Well I can't," Duo grunted; "Why won't you use that super _'Spidey Sense'_ of yours and find him yourself?"

Quatre sighed. "You know it doesn't work that way. I can only feel what the person next to me is feeling, and even that isn't always the case. It comes and goes."

"Yeah well, go ahead and feel _this_ ," Duo muttered spitefully, his mind full of nasty words and contempt.

The young businessman heaved another sigh, shaking his head sadly. "I think we both know that the disdain you're feeling is meant for Heero, not for me. You should resolve this matter with him."

"Right. Then we'll kiss and make up. Get real Quatre. The guy obviously doesn't want any of us around him no more. That why he spilt."

"You don't know that."

"Oh, I know all about people splittin', believe me. Looks like no one can stand havin' me around for more than a couple a months. The Streets are kinda what's left after that."

"Is that why you started using?"

"Da fuck do I know," Duo grunted nastily; "Shit just caught up with me, I guess..." Slowly, he turned around to lie on his back again, so he could look at Quatre.

"Maybe it caught up with Heero too," the young blond man suggested.

"See, _that_ why we shoulda stayed together!" Duo exclaimed in frustration, banging his fist on the pillow; "Heero shoulda known that – but he took off anyway!"

"I'm sure he had his reasons."

"Da fuck do I care," Duo garbled and pulled the pillow closer, hugging it, wishing to hide from Quatre's prying eyes.

"I'm not equipped to deal with your condition," Quatre explained as gently as he could. "But I will be here for you when you get out of rehab. I've made all the arrangements, you leave next week."

"I can kick the habit here," Duo sat up quickly and threw the pillow away. "Just lemme stay," he pleaded; "I promise I won't flip out or nuthin'. I dried out before – back when I was a kid. I mean, G forced me to, but I can do it again! I know I can!"

"It doesn't matter if you quit using before, because you're back in the habit now, Duo. You need professional help. I've registered you at a highly esteemed rehabilitation center here on L4. There are people there who can help you better than I can."

"Them strangers don't know shit, Quatre! They don't know shit! I can't go cold turkey in a place like that! Do you even know what that's like? Fuck, I can't do that with them doctors all around me. You gotta lemme stay!"

"This is for your own good, Duo," Quatre repeated sternly. "You know deep down that you came to me because you want to do it right this time."

"I came to you cuz you got 'nough lettuce to take care of shit."

For a moment, Quatre frowned in confusion, until he sorted through Duo's slang. "I will not sponsor your addiction, Duo. I am, however, willing to pay for your rehabilitation. If that won't cut it, then feel free to leave."

"I just might!" Duo threatened, but didn't make a move to get off the bed.

Quatre didn't seem to take the empty threat seriously. He stood up and prepared to leave the room. "That's fine by me. If you choose to come back, my offer still stands." He left the room, leaving the mess and garbage he had collected on Duo's bed.

"Da fuck!" Duo called after him. "Da Hell are you goin'! I'm talking to you, man!"

"I'm done listening to your lies, Duo," Quatre called back from the hallway. "I'm afraid I'm not as tolerant as Heero; I won't be swayed by empty promises."

Duo gaped at the empty doorway, hurt. He continued to stare numbly at the vacant room long after Quatre had left for work.

_Da fuck does he mean by "empty promises"?_ Duo wondered angrily; _I ain't the one who broke his promise. I ain't the one who left!_

Yet how come he now felt that _he_ was the one responsible for a friendship gone astray? Could it be because he never did bother searching for Heero and settled for resentment instead? Or was it simply because he was allowing Quatre and his stupid _Spidey Sense_ to mess with his mind?

Yeah, that must be it.

*             *             *

The best thing about Quatre's penthouse was the huge hot-tub on the roof. One could see the whole damn colony stretch at his feet while soaking in the warm bubbling water of Quatre's stylish whirlpool tub. The tub was located under a wooden gazebo, providing protection from prying eyes of the citizen above. Discarded clothing lay by the tub: one was a set of Duo's ragged clothing and the other obviously belonged to a female companion.

A feminine voice laughed playfully as water splashed out of the hot tub and onto the wooden deck. Some spilled on her pink lacework bra. Duo splashed water at her again and she moved away, laughing. Her long, slender white arm reached towards the rim of the tub, searching for her glass of white wine. She moved away from her companion, running her other hand through her long blonde hair, pushing her soaked bangs back.

"You really shouldn't mix wine with this shit," Duo informed her as he too moved towards the rim. His braid floated in the water, trailing behind him. Like his female counterpart, he too was naked and his hair was drenched with water. He shoved his long bangs out of his eyes and reached for his pack of smokes, which lay by the wine bottle and glasses. Next to it, on a tray full of half-eaten pizza, was a small pile of blue pills.

"What are you, my _father?_ " the girl asked; her voice carried a very light, but distinguishable, Russian accent. She was a stunning young girl with porcelain-white skin and petite body befitting a runway model. Her hair was long and golden like the sun; her eyes were as clear and blue as the shallow turquoise waters of the ocean. Her lashes were long, her eyes large and soulful. Her lips were perfect, not too plump and just the right amount of pouty, as though they have been carved by a sculpture. Their color was a tempting pale pink, a perfect addition to her porcelain-doll beauty. She was young, very young, which only added to her seductive appeal.

Duo fixed his gaze on her long, white and slender fingers as she picked one of the blue pills and dropped it into her glass of white wine. It melted away, making the wine sizzle.

"Don't say I didn't warn ya," Duo shrugged carelessly and finished his smoke. She wasn't the brightest tool in the shed, but the way she looked, she didn't have to rely on her brain much. At her age, though, the arrogant girl probably thought that she knew better than anyone. That was why she ignored his warning and leaned back, enjoying her glass of spiked wine. She sipped it slowly through plump pink lips, watching Duo with her soulful ocean-blue eyes. Duo returned her lustful gaze with his own, hungrily drinking the smooth white curves of her juvenile body.

The girl arrived about an hour ago. Quatre left for work and Duo was sitting in his room, preparing a line with the aid of his trusty ol' jackknife, when there was a sudden knock on the door. At first, Duo didn't let it bother him and leaned forward to snort his dose of cocaine. Then the doorbell rang. Annoyed, he stomped out of his room, wiping his nose and went to see who it was.

A sly smirk stretched on his face when he found that he was opening the door for a teenage girl, dressed chastely in a plain plaid ankle-length skirt and a white dress shirt; a classy diamond and pearl brooch was pinned on its high collar. The only indecorous thing about her appearance was a pair of shiny black boots spewing a substantial stiletto heel.

He smirked. "I thought Emma wouldn't pull through this time," he told her slyly; "But this is quite a treat. I wasn't expecting you so early. Are you here alone? Cuz I asked for an Asian girl too."

The girl frowned slightly. "I don't know any _Asian girls_ ," she explained and Duo first noted her light Russian accent. "I just came from the space port," she continued; "My flight was rescheduled so I'm early."

" _Oh,_ I get it," he had said, figuring that she was playing a role game for him. "So let me guess, you're the innocent school girl on a visit to the big city and I'm..."

"A friend of my uncle's?" she suggested.

"Sure, that works. Are you here to visit your uncle?"

"Yes," she confirmed with her smooth voice. "My parents sent me," she rolled her eyes; "They think that if I live in this _Muslim Hell-hole_ for a while, then it might do something to _tame_ me." The word sounded even dirtier while spoken in a Russian accent.

Duo smirked; he was very pleased by her game. "Oh, we've been naughty have we?" he asked nastily as he leaned on the doorway, looking the young girl's body up and down.

The young girl replied with a wily smile. "Let's just say that they weren't too happy when I got kicked out of the _almighty_ Empress Alexandra Russian Muslim Boarding School for Girls," she announced in a mock-official manner.

Duo laughed. "Wow, you really thought this thing through," he marveled. "But here's a little tip for next time: no need for so much detail."

"Then stop interrogating me," she retorted irritably.

"Ouch, you got me there," he laughed and opened the door fully, making room for her to enter.

"You said you're a friend of my uncle's?" she asked as she examined the lavish penthouse. "This is his place, right?"

"Yeah, I'm just crashing here for a while. He'd flip if he knew you're here with me."

" _Good_ ," she smirked and turned to him. She dropped her bag and it landed on the floor with a silent 'thud'.

"So... we're alone?" she asked as she fixed her licentious blue eyes on him.

"I'm all yours," Duo teased, grinning slyly. He approached her, invading her personal space. She didn't mind of course.

"There's a hot tub on the roof," he told her. "I bet you're dying to get outta that outfit. There ain't nuthin' like a warm soak to get all those hours of space flight off your back."

"I don't even know your name," she pointed out. "I don't get naked without knowing the guy's name."

"Just call me Duo. What can I call you?"

She smiled sneakily, clearly finding it hard to believe his unusual name was real. No whore did; they all thought he was making it up on the spot.

"Then as long as we're playing games, you can call me _Lolita_ ," she rolled the name playfully on her tongue, emphasizing her Russian accent.

"Oh I like that," Duo had grinned lustfully.

The girl was indeed the perfect embodiment of the erotic young Lolita fantasy, he now mused as he watched _Lolita_ finish her white wine. She reached her slender hand to place the glass back on the tray and moved across the hot tub to sit by his side. She settled on his lap, rubbing her waist against his manhood playfully. Duo smiled and wrapped his arms around her slim torso, pulling her closer.

"I see you've learned a couple of things back in that Muslim school," he joked as he grinded his arousal against her. "It musta been pretty hard to do in an _All-Girls_ ' school."

"Lucky for me, I was well acquainted with staff," she murmured as she leaned down to nibble at his earlobe. "The Headmaster was sad to see me go..."

"Sure," Duo agreed, closing his eyes in ecstasy; "What kind of a _Head_ master will he be without you to give him _head_."

She laughed and slapped him playfully, splashing water in his face. "You're the worse!" she exclaimed, laughing. She reached for his glass of white wine, which was still quite full, for he hadn't wished to mix wine with the drugs they were taking. She reached behind his back and slipped a blue pill into his wine without him noticing. It sizzled for a while and when the wine stilled, she picked the large wine glass up and brought it to her lips. Taking a small sip, she kept her intense eyes on him, moving her hips back and forth against his hard erection. She offered him wine and he grabbed the glass, gulped it down hungrily and then threw it away, letting it fall and shatter on the wooden deck below.

Everything hazed. Before he knew it, they were in his room, fucking like crazy. Despite her young age, Lolita was a wonderfully skilled call-girl. She could deep throat him like it was nothing and her youthful agile body was a delight to fuck. He lost himself in her. There was just something about that girl that awakened him from the terrible grip of numbness. She taunted him, calling out filthy words in his ear. At some point she became so ecstatic, that she began screaming out in Russian. He had no idea what she was saying, but her cries fueled his passion further.

Their intercourse became wilder; ruthless, just the way Duo liked it. Lolita allowed him to dominate her like no whore ever had. He used her and abused her and she just cried out for more, wrapping her slim legs around him tightly, inviting him to play. Their game was dangerous; erotic but forceful. Duo was flooded with the intoxicating sense of utter liberation. His stamina was endless; he simply couldn't get enough of the young girl's exquisite body.

He closed his eyes as he came inside her for the third time. He simply _exploded_ with ecstasy. His mind melted into a puddle of warmth. He was soaring, leaving his body and merging with sweet nothingness. For a moment, he was certain that he had blacked out, until his mind settled back in place. His heart was racing; he could actually feel the wild pulse behind his closed eyelids.

Lolita was very quiet; she wasn't even panting as he was. He could feel her smooth, still, body beneath him; he was sitting on top of her, straddling her long legs. Wondering why she was so quiet, Duo opened his eyes. Black spots danced across his field of vision, fading in and out. He blinked repeatedly to rid of them, shifted his gaze down at the bed—and gasped in horror.

The young teenage girl lay sprawled on the bed, surrounded by a pool of blood soaking the tangled sheets around her. The tips of her long blonde hair, which reached as low as her waist, were also drenched in blood. Her mouth hung open in shock as she gawked at him with a pair of wide, dead, ocean blue eyes.

Duo jumped back, mortified.

Something fell from his grasp and landed on the bed with a soft thud. Duo's eyes darted in the direction of the sound. It was his folding combat knife. He had just let go of a bloody knife!

"Holy Hell!" he cried and shot off the bed in fright.

His panicked eyes darted back up to the dead girl. He ran his eyes slowly down her body, beginning with her bluish, stunned, features, down to her nude pale bosoms and below. His gaze halted at her bloody waistline. There was a long nasty gash at the right crease of her groin; a deep slash inflicted by the sharp blade of his jackknife.

"Oh shit, oh shit," he panicked; "What da FUCK!" he screamed hysterically. His heart palpitated so fast he thought it might burst out of his chest. If he didn't know any better, he would say that he had just murdered the girl in cold blood. But he couldn't have! Why would he? Something was wrong; terribly _wrong!_

"This ain't real," Duo tried to tell himself. "This is some kinda bad trip, that all." He climbed back on the bed and shook the girl, trying to wake her. "I told you not to mix that stuff with wine!" he shouted as he shook her violently. "WAKE DA FUCK UP!"

Lolita's head thrashed wildly from side to side. Her glazed-over blue eyes continued to stare ahead blankly.

He wasn't hallucinating. The whore was dead.

"Fuck," he let out with a resigned sigh and let go of the girl. Sitting at the edge of the bloodstained bed, he turned his back to the dead teenage girl and stared numbly down at the floor. He rubbed his face tiredly; unknowingly smearing the girl's blood on his pale, panicked, features.

Slowly, he turned around to look over his shoulder. He gawked silently at the corpse lying behind him.

This was really happening.

It dawned on him that he was still naked. Aghast, he jumped off the bed and hurried to retrieve a pair of used boxers off the filthy floor. For all he knew, he had even fucked her corpse!

Bile climbed up to his throat and Duo retched violently. Assaulted by a powerful sense of disgust and nausea, he vomited on the floor. He stared numbly at the pool of vomit. There was blood on the floor as well. He watched as a bloody puddle merged with his vomit in a disgusting slow swirl. On a whim, he yanked a bloody sheet off the bed and threw himself on all fours, desperately trying to wipe the blood and vomit away with the sheet. The sheet was drenched in dark fluids by the time he was done.

He drew back, panting harshly, and observed what he had done. His cleaning efforts only resulted in smearing the evidence of his crime all over the floor. Angry, he threw the wet sheet away; it landed with a heavy wet splat at the far end of the room.

He had to get out of there. He had to get out of there before Quatre came home!

Duo scrambled clumsily back to his feet and rushed towards the closet to fetch his gym bag. He moved hurriedly around the room and stuffed it with whatever was in reach: one clean red T-shirt, a pair of jeans and a few used garments. He stopped to throw on a dirty black T-shirt and continued packing. Ignoring the corpse staring blankly at him from the bed, he walked to his nightstand and grabbed his green lighter and pack of smokes. He stopped to stare at the open pack of condoms, evidence of his many sexual encounters in that room. Feeling the need to hide it, he threw it into the bag as well. He yanked the drawer open and retrieved his passport, a few round stacks of money and a few remaining bags of cocaine.

After zipping the gym bag shut, he hoisted it over his shoulder and turned to leave the room. His bare foot stepped on something hard and he moved it back, alarmed. He had just stepped on the handle of his bloody knife; the murder weapon.

"Fucking Hell," he muttered grimly. He has been carrying that trusty old knife around since childhood; it was a reminder of the days he had spent living as part of a ruthless L2 street gang. The old combat switchblade has been there for him during many trials and tribulations. It had been a gift from the first person he could ever recall taking care of him on the Streets – Solo. He had won his first street-fight with that knife. He had carved the names of his fellow gang members on makeshift graves with that knife. He had engraved his vow for revenge on the burnt ruins of the Maxwell Church with that knife. He had prepared his first line of coke with that knife. At the age of twelve, he had even made his first kill with that knife, slitting the throat of a nameless Alliance soldier who discovered him as a stowaway on a supply transport. That was just before Professor G found him and trained him into a Gundam pilot. During wartime, he had little use for the knife, having gained much superior firepower, but he still carried it around as a memento; a testimony to his past, to his true and unchanging nature as a rogue L2 street urchin.

Now, he had no choice but to get rid of his treasured jackknife. It was indisputable evidence of his crime: he had slaughtered a young girl in cold blood without provocation or reason. In a world without war, where no one needed him to play the role of a killer anymore, there was no excuse for his crime. He had just taken a life without the pretext of war to justify his wrongdoing.

There will be consequences, that much was clear. It won't be long before the cops would be on his tail. But he'll be damned if he won't try to postpone the inevitable. He needed time; he needed time to figure out what the Hell happened!

Shaking with anxiety, Duo picked up the bloody jackknife and stuffed it into his bag as well. Sockless, he slipped into his only pair of shoes –heavy military boots – and made a run for it.

*             *             *

Lolita wasn't kidding; the damn teenage slut was indeed Quatre's niece. Her real name was Anya Maksimov, a sixteen year old daughter of one of Quatre's many sisters. Her parents lived in a large Muslim community in Russia and they sent her to spend the summer on L4 with her uncle, wishing to keep her out of the trouble she was so keen on getting into.

Duo was shocked to learn the truth. When a Preventer agent told him about it during the initial interrogation, he had simply gaped at him in disbelief. He had truly thought that the promiscuous girl was a prostitute; she hadn't said anything to make him believe otherwise. She played along, most likely to spite her uncle and express her dismay of the whole arrangement. She used him to get back at her parents and the provocation had cost the foolish girl her life.

Seven years later, thinking back on that day, Duo still couldn't say for certain what went wrong. Experts testified that the drugs he had abused that day, even mixed with alcohol, could not account for his loss of memory. The jury refused to believe that he had blacked out sometime between orgasm and reality. It didn't help that he could not reconstruct what happened, how he had ended up slicing the girl across the right crease of her groin. He admitted that they played an erotic game with his knife, but insisted that he did not cut her for real. He certainly couldn't recall serving a main artery in her groin and watching her bleed to death while he fucked her! That was sick. Just _sick!_ He could never do such a thing! He wasn't some psycho!

His lawyer, appointed by the state, tried to play the momentary insanity claim, but it didn't hold. Sadly, given his past as a terrorist, no one was willing to listen. They condemned him from the start. As part of the treaty signed between Earth and the Colonies, both governments had conferred legal immunity on all of the former Gundam pilots back in AC 196; hence Preventer could never hold him accountable for any of the acts he had committed during wartime. That didn't stop the prosecution from taking those crimes into consideration and allowing his past to reflect on his character. The jury bought into it easily; it wasn't hard for them to believe that a person who had performed guerrilla warfare against military targets was also capable of harming innocent civilians. Not that the promiscuous blonde was by any means _innocent_ , but the jury didn't care for that.

Quatre certainly never spoke in his favor. His testimony only incriminated Duo further. He spoke of the drug abuse, of the whores Duo had brought into his home and of Duo's past as a rogue street urchin on L2. In his fury, Quatre had consciously betrayed Duo's trust by speaking of things he had told him in strict confidence. When asked why he didn't report Duo's misconduct sooner, Quatre had turned an angry glare at the prosecutor and said that he meant to send Duo off to rehab before his niece arrived. If Anya's parents would have informed him about her earlier arrival, he would have kicked Duo out already.

It didn't take the jury long to reach their verdict: he was as guilty as sin. His attorney was skillful enough to reduce the sentence to voluntary manslaughter rather than murder in the second degree. Since no premeditated intent could be proven, he was charged with a crime committed in the "Heat of Passion" and sentenced to ten years' time.

Thankfully, since the Winner Cooperation was involved, the whole matter never reached the press to avoid bad publicity and meddling in internal family affairs. Duo's trial went unnoticed by the public and he sat rotting in an L4 prison cell for seven years without anyone ever knowing about it.

The 5 O'clock News was playing on the flat television screen in Heero's apartment. A stoic news anchor was reporting about one thing or another; Duo didn't really care to listen. He was sitting on the hard black leather sofa in Heero's living room, dressed only in a pair of black boxer shorts while his large silver cross dangled over his bare muscled chest. There were two empty beer bottles on the coffee table, along with some Chinese takeout leftovers. Duo had memorized Heero's credit card number when he took the man's wallet to the supermarket the day before, so he had no problem ordering whatever he wanted.

He sat slouched down on the sofa, tossing a folded jackknife up and down the palm of his hand as he stared at the television numbly. The small switchblade seemed relatively new. It wasn't the same knife he had carried with him since childhood; that pocketknife was confiscated and used as evidence against him. The object he was holding was a similar folding combat knife, same brand as the last one, which he had acquired illegally in prison. It was the same knife Officer Hakeem tried to take from him during his release.

Even though Duo was aware that it wasn't the same jackknife, he still took comfort in holding it – which he often did. The feeling of the folded switchblade in his fist was soothing and familiar. During his time in prison, he had transferred all of his old sentiments into his new blade.

He was so bored. It's been hours since Heero left. Chowder was still locked in the laundry room, where he had left it unconscious that morning. The apartment was too quiet and too empty; it was driving Duo mad. He was unaccustomed to being alone; prison was always crowded and buzzing with activity. The silence was maddening.

Sighing, Duo threw the knife back into his bag and bent towards the coffee table to fetch his pack of smokes. Leaning back, he used a cheap green plastic lighter to light up a cigarette and grabbed the remote. He flipped the TV channels until he found a music channel to his liking.

Loud death-metal music filled the air and Duo smirked darkly. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, allowing the music to flow through him. He raised a hand up to draw smoke from his cigarette and exhaled it in a long, relaxing breath.

An imaged flickered hazily behind his closed eyelids; a disturbing recollection of a long bloody gash: the cut he had inflicted on Lolita's groin.

He opened his eyes and blinked repeatedly, trying to shake the unsettling mental image. It was as if the sight of that bleeding wound was scorched into his memory with hot iron molds. There were nights when he couldn't shake the image away: the crimson fluid gushing out of a clean, deep cut, oozing down the pale white skin of her groin. Lolita's wound was metaphorically scarred on his flesh, etched to the back of his eyelids for him to see whenever they closed.

Trying to ignore it, Duo stood up and began circling the living room, moving his head with the music. His shoulder-length hair bounced around his head with the beat. He closed his eyes and allowed the music to course through him. The silver cross pendant swung wildly over his nude chest as he moved to the music. He enjoyed feeling the heavy cold metal bounce against his bare skin. It was like taking a wild dance with God himself as the Almighty hugged his neck and kissed his chest like a randy whore. His faith made him strong, no matter how twisted his views have become over the years; over the past few days in particular. Heero made him crazy, but his cross made him sane. They danced together, hanging on a thin thread dangling between madness and reason. He was in fucking heaven— until the phone rang.

Duo's eyes snapped open and he halted. The phone rang again and he whirled around towards the desk under the broken window, spotting the cordless phone. He stared at it, listening to it ring persistently. Duo felt as though it was beckoning him; somehow, he just knew that the phone was ringing for him. He answered it.

Loud metal music was still playing, bombarding the apartment with crude noise. Pressing the cordless phone to his ear, Duo searched for the remote on the sofa.  "Hello?" he called as he reached for the remote to turn the volume down.

There was no reply from the other side of the line. Duo stood in the middle of the living room and scratched his naked chest; the skin under his cross itched as though scorched by it, punishing him for sins he could only dream of.

" _Hello!?_ " he grunted into the phone again. "Heero, is that you?" he ventured a guess.

"Yes," Heero's quiet voice finally spoke from the other side of the line and Duo smiled slyly.

"I thought so," he said. "Wussup? Everything cool?"

"I'm calling to let you know that I will be running late."

"Oh yeah? Is the meeting taking longer than you expected? Want me to come 'n bail ya out? Yanno, like from a bad date or sumthin'?"

There was a long pause from the other side of the line.

"Heero?" Duo called, frowning. "You still there?"

He heard Heero heave a long sigh.

"No, Duo, there's no need to _'bail me out'_ ," he replied tiredly. "I will be home later tonight so could you please feed Chowder? And take him out for a—" Heero took a sharp gasp for air. Someone was talking in the background; a female. What the Hell was going on? Where was Heero calling from? Was he with that Hispanic slut?! Was he fucking her?! Was he calling from her bed, that damn two-timing prick!

"Could you please take Chowder... for a short walk?" Heero requested wearily.

Duo's frown deepened. Heero sounded like shit; something _was_ wrong.

"Hey, buddy, you okay?" he asked worriedly; "Is sumthin' wrong? You don't sound too good. Need me to come over?" He would gladly come to take Heero away from whatever slut he was probably fucking.

"No, I'm... fine," Heero said slowly, "Could you just... Just take care of Chowder."

"Yeah, sure Heero, no problem," he hurried to say, gazing at the laundry room where he had locked the damn beast that morning. He could hear it scrap against the laundry room door.

"Yanno you can always count on me," he lied as smoothly as a silver-tongued devil. All the while, his gaze was fixed on the broken square patch of the living room window, where he had shoved Heero violently but a few hours ago. He glanced down at the desk, at the missing space left by the fallen computer monitor and winced, looking away. What in God's name came over him that morning?

"Anything else I can do you for?" he asked with an emphasized touch of his Southern accent, trying to sound playful despite the sick feeling in his stomach.

There was a long, contemplative pause on Heero's end of the line. "No," Heero finally said and hung up the call.

*             *             *

Duo put on a dirty T-shirt, the same one he had arrived in – the one sporting an image of a crazy-looking green cartoon dog being slaughtered by a bloody army knife; it felt like an appropriate attire considering he was about to walk a damn dog. He headed for the laundry room to fetch Chowder. He might hate dogs more than anything, but Heero asked him for a favor and God be damned – he was going to do it.

The Hellish beast pounced at him the minute he opened the door. Duo kicked the dog off violently, shoving the damned animal aside, cussing angrily. Howling, Chowder ran out of the laundry room and to the front door, barking loudly as though calling for help.

"Well I ain't crazy about the idea of taking care of ya either, ya fucking _fur-ball,_ " he grunted as he walked to the door and grabbed Chowder's leash from the wall hanger. "I'm only doin' this cuz Heero asked me to," he muttered. "God knows I owe him one..."

The dog's ears perked up and it began growling dangerously, warning Duo not to approach it with the leash.

"Fuck off, bitch," Duo growled as he whipped the dog's back with the leash, attacking it before it attacked him. Chowder cringed in pain and barked frantically. Duo ignored it and hurried to secure the leash to the damn dog's collar. He tugged at it forcefully, nearly choking the dog, until it fell quiet, submitting.

Sockless, he stepped into his heavy black boots, grabbed his smokes and a lighter and headed out the door, pulling the reluctant Chowder along with him. Wailing miserably, the dog followed Duo down the stairs.

As soon as he stepped out of the building, Duo lit up a smoke. He tied Chowder's leash to a lamp post in front of the building and then plopped unceremoniously on the stairs leading up to the lobby. He took his time drawing smoke from his cigarette, lost in thoughts. Meanwhile, Chowder circled the pole helplessly, wailing miserably. Duo snorted and sneered at the damn dog.

"This is as far as I'm gonna take ya, so fucking deal with it, bitch," he muttered and took a long drag on his smoke, looking the other way. He stared ahead at the far end of the street, where cars were speeding up and down the main road in a colorful blur of red and yellow headlights. "Just do your fuckin' business already, I ain't taking ya nowhere."

Chowder barked and wailed, but Duo ignored its cries and simply tried to enjoy his smoke. He considered releasing the stupid canine from its leash and forcing it to run away, but then he recalled the look of utter abandonment on Heero's face yesterday, when Chowder took off. He couldn't do that to Heero; not purposefully, not ever. He would never hurt Heero for real. What happened that morning wasn't his fault. He never meant to hurt Heero. He was certain that Heero knew that; otherwise, he wouldn't have denied the whole thing in front of that faggot Jerry.

"A God damned _Ozzie_ ," Duo muttered grimly, shaking his head with dismay. His bitter thoughts were interrupted by the sound of high-heels tapping against the pavement. Duo looked up and spotted two familiar silhouettes heading into the street from the main road: a woman and a small child; Marissa and Adriel.

" _Great,_ " he grumbled and threw his cigarette butt to the pavement, aiming at the stupid dog. He ran a hand to push his long bangs up, trying to look cool so that the damn Beaner-bitch won't glare at him for chillin' on the steps of her apartment building.

The two reached the stairs and stopped when they saw Duo.

"Evening ma'am," he greeted cynically, looking Marissa up and down with dark, condemning eyes. The older woman was wearing a flowery dress which clung to her voluptuous figure. Her long dark-brown hair fell over her shoulders in a cascade of lush curls. She was carrying a pizza box in one hand and holding her son's hand in the other. Adriel stood next to her, wearing some sort of yellow and black sports uniform and holding a soccer ball in his hand. His smooth ebony black hair was a bit dusty, as were his soccer uniforms. Small dry grass leaves peeked between smooth strands of black hair and there was a jubilant gleam in his twinkling hazel eyes which suggested that he had greatly enjoyed whatever playful scuffle had caused him to look so disheveled. Adriel's messy appearance was _almost_ adorable. If Duo didn't resent the boy so much for being Heero's illegitimate son, he would have even found it cute, for it offered him a glimpse to what Heero might have looked like if he had been fortunate enough to live normally.

Marissa wrapped her arm protectively around the boy's shoulder and pulled him closer to her.

Duo ignored her and faked a smiled. "Hey there _squirt_ ," he said in forged cheerfulness, "What's that? You were playing ball?"

"I had soccer practice," the child chirped and his hazel eyes sparkled with glee. "We kicked ass!"

"Adriel!" Marissa quickly rebuked his language and the little boy smiled sheepishly.

"Oh _wow_ ," Duo exclaimed sarcastically; "You're real serious 'bout this shit aren't ya?" Marissa's glare hardened even more and Duo smirked spitefully.

The child nodded excitedly, oblivious to Duo's sarcasm. "We have a big game coming up. You can come with Hiro to see me play."

"Love to squirt, but I dunno if I'm gonna stay around for that long."

"Come on, papí," Marissa finally cut in, obviously upset that her son was having a friendly conversation with Duo. "We have to get going before the pizza gets cold."

"But I wanna play ball with Chowder!" the boy whined; "Please? Can I stay? Duo can watch over me."

Marissa seemed appalled by the idea. "No papí, you may not," she hurried to refuse and nudged the boy forward, urging him to keep moving. "C'mon, we have to get going."

"What's your fuckin' problem, lady?!"

Marissa glared angrily at Duo. She gave her son another small nudge forward. "Go upstairs, papí, I'll be right there."

"Can I take the pizza?" the squirt chirped and already reached for the box in his mother's hands. Marissa handed it to him quickly.

"Wash up before dinner," she muttered, still staring Duo down. Adriel hurried up stairs, his soccer ball and treasured pizza in hand. Once the boy was gone, Duo's expression hardened. He stood up, assuming an intimidating pose. He glared down at the scornful Latin woman standing before him.

"I know who you are, Duo," Marissa hissed in a low and angry tone. "I know what you did," she added with disgust, running her eyes up and down the tall burly man standing before her. She eyed his large silver cross with disapproval and Duo felt his blood boil with anger. The bitch was looking down at him as though he didn't deserve to wear their Lord's symbol so close to his heart. He curled his fists tightly, trying to control his anger. How could she possibly know what he had done? He was told that the matter would never reach the press. The bitch was fucking with him.

"Hiro has no business harboring you in his home," Marissa muttered reproachfully.

" _Harboring_ me?" Duo hissed dangerously; "I ain't no fugitive, bitch."

"You might as well be," she retorted spitefully. "What you've done is beyond the pale."

She planted both her hands on her curvy hips and pressed her lush lips together angrily. She seemed outraged by him. Good. If she knew about what he had done then she should feel sickened. But then again – how could she know? The news couldn't possibly have reached her! There hadn't been any press coverage! She was just fucking with him!

"You don't  know jack shit," he muttered crudely.

"I know more than enough," she hissed with contempt; "I've seen what you've done, that terrible gash... I can never get it out of my head, God damn you."

"Who da fuck are you!" Duo exclaimed, panicked; "How could you possibly—"

"You keep the Hell away from my son, you hear?" she cut in, caring very little for what he had to say. Her dark brown eyes seethed with anger as she glared up at Duo. "I don't want to see you near him again!"

Duo let out a snorting snicker. "Is that a threat?" His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Do you really wanna go there? Cuz I'm game, lady, no problem. You just give me a reason to _fuck you up_ and I will."

Marissa didn't seem fazed by his threat or the menace in his eyes. She lifted her head up spitefully, standing her ground. She glared at Duo in abhorrence.

"Take one step towards Adriel and I'll rip your eyes straight out of their sockets, you God damned son-of-a-bitch."

Duo sniggered insolently. "My my, do you say your prayers with that dirty mouth? Shit, bitch. You just made me horny."

"I mean it," Marissa hissed another warning; "Don't come near my son again."

"He's Heero's son too, ya fucking hoe. I'll come near him all I fucking want. I'll hang around Heero all I fucking want and I'll stay here for as _long_ as I _fucking want!_ "

For a moment, the woman seemed shocked and anxious by his acknowledgment of Heero being Adriel's father. However her surprise lasted only a second before her features darkened with utter abhor.

"Haven't you hurt Hiro enough?" she demanded harshly, gazing up at Duo with a pair of tortured dark-brown eyes. The look in her eyes reminded him of Heero again. Once more, she was looking at him just like Heero did; like the two of them shared some dark secret no other soul on Earth knew about or understood. He hated her for it.

"Why in God's name would you show up here after all these years?" Marissa demanded heatedly. "What for? Haven't you done enough damage? Do you enjoy torturing him, is that it?"

"Da fuck's that?" Duo burst; "I ain't done nuthin' wrong! Heero and I are _pals_. We've been through fucking _Hell_ together! I ain't the one who fucked him up!"

"Ignorance is no protection against punishment," Marissa informed him haughtily; she sounded like his damn priest. "You have much to repent."

"And Heero doesn't?" he exclaimed irritably; "We've been through the same shit. What makes him so fucking special?"

"You chose the easy way out, you turned to God to absolve you," Marissa muttered indignantly, gesturing at his cross with her head. She reached to hold the frail golden cross hanging around her neck and wrapped her fingers around the delicate pendant. "Hiro turned to people. That's what makes him special, that's what makes him better than you. That's what makes him _strong_ ," she concluded with a small sigh, casting her gaze down to the ground. "You two are nothing alike. Stay away from him. He's having a hard enough time as it is."

"Hey, I ain't the one giving him Hell over your damn kid," he accused viciously. "I ain't the one keeping him from telling Adriel that he's his father! Da fuck you ended up havin' his kid anyway? You're like a million years older than he is, _granny_!"

Marissa was seething with anger. She glared at him hatefully. "If you truly care for Hiro – which I doubt you do–" she muttered disdainfully, "then you'd do him a favor and leave." With that said, she walked up to the building, her high heel shoes tapping harshly on the stairs as she climbed up into the lobby.

Duo snorted and shook his head. He lit up another smoke.

"The bitch has some nerve..." he muttered to himself and took a long drag. How dare she suggest that he was to blame of Heero's suffering? What the Hell did he have to do with anything that happened to Heero after the war? He was willing to be there for Heero, but Heero chose to leave him behind. Everything that happened after that couldn't possibly be his fault!

But the bitch still was right about one thing: God offered him no absolution. Heero was his only salvation. He had to be, otherwise – he was lost. No one else could save him from himself. He needed more than a week; he needed Heero for _far longer_ than one lousy week!

Heero should be his for good.

But between Heero's _damn beast_ of a dog, his _fancy job_ , his _faggot bodyguard_ , his _Beaner-bitch_ ex-girlfriend and his _bratty squirt_ of a son, Duo was beginning to wonder where the Hell was _he_ going to fit in. He had to find a way to drill himself into that picture-perfect life of Heero's, or else he'd lose it completely. He _will_ make himself a place; even if it meant that someone else had to _go._

*             *             *

  **To be continued in Chapter 08: Wound:**

Heero's head jerked up; he glowered furiously at Duo. "You can't help me, Duo," he snapped; "Don't you get it? You're only making it worse."

oOo

Heero rose to his feet swiftly. He snatched the knife from Duo's grip – and plunged it into his chest, stabbing his own heart. Duo watched the blood gush out of the wound, fascinated and mortified at once.

oOo

"Okay, okay, no panic," Duo mumbled, slightly out of breath for he himself was beginning to panic. "I'm calling an ambulance, just hang in there..."

oOo

 

[1]All American Drug = cocaine


	10. Chapter 08: Wound

**One Week 10/20**

**Chapter 08: Wound**

The minute Duo walked back into Heero's apartment, he dragged Chowder into the laundry room. The damn beast refused to let him close the door and lock it so he kicked the dog, hard. Chowder went down with a short wail/yelp. Duo locked the laundry room's door and went to put on some music.

The time was half past seven p.m. and he was starving. He opened the fridge in search for some grub. He shoved a slice of turkey deli-meat and cheese between two slices of whole-grain bread, grabbed his last bottle of beer and headed back to the living room. He slouched on the sofa, snatched the remote and took a large bite from his sandwich. He chewed on it obnoxiously as he flipped through the channels in search for something to help him pass the time.

He finally settled on porn, but after a few minutes of watching two white girls get fucked in the ass by some _humongous_ black guy, he turned off the TV and threw the remote away. He felt so edgy and aggravated, that nothing could ease his craze but to either plow someone to the floor with his fists, or fuck him/her until his/her ass bled.

Half an hour later, he heard a key slide into the lock: Heero was finally home.

Duo quickly sat up properly. He wiped the breadcrumbs off his red T-shirt and ran his hand through his hair a couple of times. As the door slowly opened, he turned around to face it. When he saw Heero, his mouth gaped open. He jumped to his feet, staring.

The young man was standing at the doorstep, looking much the worse for wear. He wasn't wearing the dark-colored blazer he had been wearing that morning when he left, rather just a torn blue dress-shirt. His dark-blue tie was undone, hanging loosely around his neck. The suit's pants were torn at his left side. His left arm was wrapped in a cast, suspended on a sling hanging from his right shoulder. The entire left side of his face was badly bruised, his skin was black and blue and there were stitches on his left temple. He had no eyeglasses on and was gazing at Duo with a tired and bleak look in his Prussian blue eyes.

"Heero! Da fuck happened?!"

"I got hit by a car," Heero muttered with a tired sigh and finally stepped into the apartment, closing the door behind him. He was limping badly.

"You fuckin' _what!_ "

Heero didn't bother repeating himself and limped towards the sofa, using his good (right) arm to hold his left leg – the one with the limp; it was obviously bothering him, for Heero winced with every step. He settled down heavily on the sofa, leaning back in fatigue. Very carefully, he placed his damaged left leg up on the coffee table and grimaced.

"I was hit while attempting to cross the road," he explained jadedly, rubbing his aching leg. His suit pants were torn and dirty, but not bloody.

" _Fuck man!_ " Duo exclaimed worriedly; "Look at you! What hit you – a fucking _monster truck?_ "

"It's just a fracture," Heero muttered sullenly, gesturing with his broken arm towards Duo.

"Yeah, and half your face is all black 'n blue! These bruises look so nasty even _I_ feel like wincing."

"It's not as bad as it looks," Heero grunted irritably. "I've been through worse," he added quietly as he looked around, examining the mess in the living room. He narrowed his eyes as he studied the room; it was clearly difficult for him to see without his eyeglasses. He paused to look at the broken window and missing computer monitor. Sighing, he looked down blankly. When he noticed the breadcrumbs on the sofa, he wiped them off with great annoyance, scowling down at the floor where the crumbs joined the rest of their companions already littering the shiny hardwood floor.

Duo was half-expecting the young man to reprimand him for messing up the place even more, however Heero remained silent, his displeasure apparent only in his tired blue eyes. He seemed so different without his glasses; defenseless in a way. The dark purple bruises at the left side of his face didn't help either; Heero looked like an abused spouse.

"Where's Chowder?" Heero suddenly asked and gave the room another quick scan.

"It went to sleep after I walked it," Duo lied. "Were you in a hospital?" he quickly changed the subject back to Heero. "Is that where you were calling from?" He continued probing; "Why didn't ya tell me?"

Heero bowed his head down. "What would you have done if I had told you?" he asked meekly, staring at the floor. "The driver offered to take me to a local clinic. She waited with me while a doctor put a cast around my arm and then she drove me home. It was more than you could have done for me."

Duo rolled his eyes. "Yanno she only did it so you won't press any charges."

"The accident was my fault, not hers."

"It was _your_ fault that _she_ hit you?"

"Yes."

Duo frowned. "Cuz you didn't see her car coming, right?" he asked nervously; "Just like you can't see me if I approach you from sideways, or ya don't notice your dog 'nless you're looking straight down at it, right?" he deduced as he came to stand in front of Heero, glaring firmly at the injured young man. "You can't see unless you look directly at stuff, unless it's right in front of you, can't you?"

Heero offered no reply. He kept staring down at the floor.

"Is there something wrong with your eyes?" Duo pushed on; "Can't you like, I dunno, have 'em fixed or sumthin'?"

"There is nothing wrong with my eyes," Heero sighed, closing his eyes tiredly. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his good hand, grimacing.

"Then what is it? Why can't you see?"

Heero reopened his eyes and sent him an angry look. He looked so strange without his eyeglasses! Duo had gotten used to the sight of Heero's mature face with his eyeglasses on. Now, Heero suddenly looked so... _exposed_. The look in his Prussian blue eyes was vivid and raw; even more intense than Duo recalled.

"Stop pestering me with questions."

"You shoulda told me 'bout the accident!"

"What difference would it have made?"

"Da fuck? I woulda come straight over!"

"What for?" Heero retorted, lifting his chin up spitefully.

"Ain't it obvious!" Duo waved his hands up in frustration. "I woulda helped! That's what friends do!"

"I don't need your help, Duo," Heero sighed and bowed his head again to stare at the coffee table. "And I've already told you that I cannot have you as my friend."

"That's harsh!" Duo snapped heatedly. His shoulder-length hair swung wildly from side to side as he shook his head in denial. "I don't deserve this shit when all I really want is to help you out!"

Heero's head jerked up; he glowered furiously at Duo. "You can't help me, Duo," he snapped; "Don't you get it? You're only making it worse."

"Da fuck that's supposed to mean?"

Heero sighed, shaking his head in disappointment. "Just forget it," he murmured, subjugated once again as he resumed staring tiredly at the floor.

_'...i'Ll JuSt...'_

_'...fOrGeT...'_

Duo shuddered, suddenly feeling very cold. A dark forbidding feeling knotted in the pit of his stomach, causing his whole inside to clench painfully. Was that Heero's voice he just heard?

"Just... just forget it, Duo," Heero whispered. He brought his good right arm up, looking at it mournfully, somewhat nostalgically before he brought his hand back down slowly, resting it on his thigh as he curled it into a fist.

"It's for the best," he muttered resignedly.

_'... jUst..._

_...fOrgEt...'_

There it was again; Heero's voice, whispering inside his head. A frightening chill ran up and down Duo's spine. His legs suddenly felt weak and he tremble. An arctic wind gushed by his very soul, leaving him frozen to the core. His heart felt as though it had just dropped down and crashed against his ribcage. He swallowed hard, completely shaken.

_What was that? When did Heero **say** that!_

He watched Heero silently; a hesitant and somewhat fearful gaze in his eyes as he studied the other man. He felt like he had committed a terrible sin; like he had done Heero so much wrong that not a soul on Earth could forgive him for it... No other soul but Heero's, but he didn't wish to be forgiven for something he was clueless about. Absolution without repentance meant nothing.

"Heero, please," he begged, "I can't just forget about this, not now. Not when I think I'm actually starting to—"

Startled, Heero whirled his head up towards him, his eyes wide. "Don't," he stopped him. "Don't say it."

Duo fell quiet and gawked at Heero, stumped.

Without the shelter of his black eyeglasses, Heero's Prussian blue eyes were so bare; stripping him down to the very essence of his soul. There was something dark and painful swirling within their depths; a poisonous shadow lingering just beneath the deep blue surface.

An awkward silence hung in the air. Duo studied Heero quietly, waiting to see what he might say or do. His gaze traveled down Heero's bowed back, looking sadly at the bony bumps of his shoulder blades showing clearly under his torn blue dress shirt, adding to his jaded appearance. Heero appeared so small all of a sudden; decrepit and frail... depleted. The color had drained from the his cheeks; his lips were slightly agape and his unruly bangs cast dark shadows over his eyes. He stared at Duo until his eyes glazed over with numbness. The young man seemed utterly defeated.

Heero stared at the coffee table, his shoulders slumping down wearily. Leaning forward, he lifted his good (right) arm to rub his face tiredly and pushed his untrimmed bangs up as he shook his head. He heaved a tired sigh, which sounded awfully loud in the heavy silence filling the apartment. He rested his good arm on his knee and flexed his palm into a fist, opening and closing it again and again as he stared at it numbly.

"After all this time," Heero's quiet murmur broke the heavy silence; "there's no point to this, so just... just forget about what you think you might know. Don't..." he allowed his voice to trail off without finishing the sentence, as though regretting it.

"Don't what?" Duo dared to whisper the question, swallowing the lump which had formed in his throat.

Again Heero sighed, an action so atypical to the person Duo had known all those years ago. Slowly, he turned to face Duo again. There was a sad and distant shine in his eyes that told volumes of the hurt he felt inside. Duo could not bear to see Heero so... _wounded_. Witnessing his frailty hurt Duo in a way he had never felt before. There was a bleeding wound in Heero's eyes, a hurt of a deep, emotional kind; a lesion that refused to heal even after all those years. The wound was still bleeding; just like the gash he saw whenever he closed his eyes, Lolita's bleeding groin.

"Don't pry," Heero requested quietly. He bowed his head to stare at his right hand, flexing it as though to test if it was still functional, unlike his useless left arm hanging limply in a sling.

"Heero," Duo whispered; he was afraid to raise his voice above a whisper and break the fragile moment. "Something isn't right here. There's something very... _wrong_...  with us, you, me... What's going on? Please, you can't avoid dealing with this until the week is over. I want to be a friend to you Heero, and it's driving me nuts. I nearly killed you today..."

"I won't make that mistake again," Heero informed him, however vaguely. Duo could not be certain if the mistake Heero was referring to was the incident that morning, or their friendship altogether.

"I'm sorry," Heero murmured. "I know you didn't choose this," Heero murmured quietly, staring numbly at his hand. "You were the first person to ever reach for my hand... the first person I dared reaching out to." Slowly, he turned his head up to face Duo with a pair of wounded blue eyes. "You were the first to teach me that I could be something more than the sum of my training, and I appreciate that."

Duo swallowed, uncomfortable by the sudden earnestness.

"I wish that we would have been given a better choice in life," Heero continued quietly; "but I had to learn to live with the cards I've been dealt. You should do the same." He turned to stare down at his hand again; it was curled into a tight, angry fist. "I hope you can find a way to understand, because this is the only explanation I can give you." Heero concluded; his voice broken, pained. His expression had turned numb and stony, but his eyes were still clouded by dark anguish. "There's nothing more I can say."

Speechless, Duo stood there, unable to move as he watched Heero struggle up to his feet. The man winced as he placed his left leg on the floor and tried to stable himself. He wobbled from side to side and had to place his hand on the sofa's backrest to keep from falling.

"Here, Heero, lemme help," Duo hurried towards him, reaching a hand up in a helping gesture, but Heero pushed his hand away. He limped away, heading to his bedroom.

Duo remained standing by the sofa, watching Heero lean heavily against the corridor wall as he struggled to retreat to his bedroom. Once there, Heero closed the door behind him, clearly telling Duo that he didn't wish to be followed.

Duo heaved a sigh. He too had nothing more to say.

*             *             *

Late that night, Duo lay wide awake on the sofa, his hands behind his head as he stared at the ceiling, lost in thought. The apartment was dead-silent. Heero hasn't come out of his room and Chowder was still locked inside the laundry room. Thankfully, Heero was so tired, aching and upset that he didn't check on his pet. Perhaps he had forgotten about that too.

Duo shifted to lie on his side, curling into a fetal position and cradling his head on his arms.

Heero seemed to forget about a lot of things, but it would appear that there was one thing Heero will _never_ forget. Then why did he recall hearing Heero promise him that he _will_ forget? Was that just another dream? What happened? What was _he_ forgetting?

Troubled, Duo closed his eyes, trying to concentrate. He called on the elusive memory of Heero's promise to forget, trying to force the truth out of the deepest, darkest regions of his mind.

What was he forgetting? He tried to sort through the many gaps he had in his memory. He came up with nothing. None of those memories could be recovered; they remained as black voids in his psyche; just like those crucial missing moments during which he had most likely killed Anya.

He recalled going to bed with that stupid Lolita girl. He recalled cleaning her blood off the floor hysterically, but he did not recall the act itself. He had fucked her silly, yes. She had given her consent; that much he recalled, but what happened afterwards... that was just another black spot. The evidence still pointed at him. It didn't matter what he told the jury; no one believed him. His crime was too hideous to be forgiven. Experts proved that he had fucked her post-mortem. That revolting fact was enough to blind the jury from seeing the truth. And the truth was that he was insane: utterly, absolutely, most definitely, fucking _insane_.

But the insanity claim didn't hold.

Quatre certainly never spoke in his favor. The bastard didn't even want to listen when he told him that his mind wasn't his at the time. Fucking asshole; some friend he was. Heero was the only true friend he had left. He was never so quick to condemn him. Heero protected him, he stood up for him that morning when that _ass-licking-faggot Jerry_ showed up waving his gun around like some fancy drama queen. Heero forgave him for whatever happened that morning. He had blacked out then too. He didn't recall attacking Heero, even though he was certain that he had. It would be foolish of him to believe otherwise.

Heero made him crazy. He could feel the malicious insanity sizzle just beneath the surface of his mind whenever he was around the man. Something inside him was always ready to snap in Heero's presence. That _had_ to make him insane, right? But one would have to be sane enough to recognize that he's crazy, no? He knew that Heero drove him to the point of madness, which in essence made him sane because he was able to recognize that insanity.

It was no wonder the jury didn't believe his claim; "illogical logic" was never valid in court. They didn't even give him the benefit of the doubt. He shouted at them that they were all insane – Quatre included. Why, one _had_ to be insane to agree to pilot a Gundam, because only crazy people would willingly do what they had done during wartime. Then again, knowing that you've gone mad suggested that you're still sane and therefore qualified to pilot. That alone was a crazy assumption.

Quatre was no less insane than he was – and who would put their faith and trust in a madman's words if not crazy people!? Insanity was contagious; the whole God damned jury was _mad_! Their reasoning was just an unsound as his was. Everyone was against him except for Heero; he was the only sane man left in this whole God damned crazy world. If he wanted to be saved from his dementia, he needed Heero. And yet, being next to Heero made him crazy. He was forever trapped in a one _fucked up_ Catch-22!

Duo's head reeled from over-thinking. He groaned painfully, feeling his temples pulse with nasty headache. He's been thinking too hard, trying to make sense of a world that was fundamentally insane. He might be a madman, but that only meant that he was saner than the rest. He saw things far more clearly, far more simply. It was a black and white kind of vision: people were either with him or they were against him. It was up to Heero to choose on which side of the fence he was standing. If his actions that morning meant that he chose to be on his side, then he had nothing to worry about. It was up to Heero to make the choice: were they friends, or were they foes?

Troubled, Duo struggled to quiet down his mind and get some sleep. He rolled over on the uncomfortable leather sofa, curling on his side, facing the coffee table. He could not close his eyes to sleep. He felt uneasy in the silent and dark apartment. Shifting his gaze up, he looked in the direction of the living room window, wishing to look at the strips of light filtering through the blinds. They looked like bars, reminding him of prison, which was strangely comforting.

It took him a moment to notice that it wasn't the usual orange streetlamp light filtering in through the blinds. There was a bright blue halo shining behind the blinds of Heero's living room. There it was again: the Earth was shining out of Heero's apartment window.

The leather sofa squeaked as Duo stood up slowly. Everything felt so vivid and real. Still, he reminded himself that he must be dreaming. He stood up carefully, his gaze locked on the window for he was afraid to turn around and face the darkness he had seen before, where whispers told a terrifying horror story. He blinked, just once, and in a blink of an eye the blinds were gone. The window was now bare. It seemed larger as well. He was now standing before an enormous panoramic window overlooking the Earth from orbit.

His body went rigid, alert. He turned around, reluctant but ready to face the darkness. Instead he found himself standing in a large hall, an observatory room of some sort. There was no trace of the sofa or any sign of Heero's apartment. Pale blue light filled the silent observatory room. The air was still. Shadows obscured the metallic walls around him, some tumbling ominously to the floor. The low, steady hum of life-support vibrated quietly through the air.

Behind him, the huge panoramic window stretched from wall to wall, providing a breathtaking view of the Earth below. The glowing blue planet radiated just enough light for him to be able see a few feet ahead. Shifting his gaze down, he saw the shadow he was casting across the floor. He smiled at the sight of his braid's silhouette; he had missed it terribly.

The place seemed vaguely familiar. If memory served him right, he was on the MO2 satellite station, orbiting the Earth. For some reason, he was dreaming of the space station he and the rest of the pilots went to in the moments after the end of the Eve Battles.

He turned back around to look out the window, ready to search for a confirmation to his theory. If he could make out debris in space, such as the falling Libra station Heero had shot down, then it would mean that he was correct.

A person was sitting on the ledge of the large window, gazing down at the Earth. All Duo could make out was a dark silhouette, but he recognized the person easily. It was Heero. Not the pathetic _Hiro_ he's been getting to know for the past few days, but rather _his_ Heero: the alluring sixteen-year-old soldier he had admired for years, was sitting right there in front of him, washed by ethereal blue light pouring through the window, engulfing him in an enchanting blue halo. He was dressed in his skintight flight suit, the one he had worn during the last battle over Libra. His one leg was resting unceremoniously on the window sill he was sitting on, his other leg propped up in an angle and his arm resting over his kneecap casually as he studied the Earth below.

Duo felt his chest tighten at the heavenly sight. He didn't recall ever meeting Heero on the MO2 observation deck, but he thanked his rich imagination for providing him with the nostalgic imagery.

"There you are," he called without conscious thought, as though reciting something he had said long ago. His voice echoed within the large metallic hall.

Heero turned to face him slowly. His Prussian blue eyes shimmered dimly under the pale blue light. His youthful face and stony expression were stunning in their intensity. There were two patches of injured skin on the left side of his face, injuries he had suffered during the final stage of the battle, when he had blasted what remained of the Libra station into dust. To do that, Heero had recklessly piloted the Wing ZERO Gundam into Earth's upper atmosphere. The heat during re-entry had nearly toasted him alive.

The young teenage boy sitting before him hardly resembled the _shadow_ Duo knew at present. His heart fluttered with excitement, rejoicing for seeing Heero – _his_ Heero, the _real_ Heero – again. Wounded and battered, Heero had never seemed more like a fallen angel than he did right now. Duo was overwhelmed by sight of both virtue and sin blending together dangerously to form the features of a boy who possessed the sorrowful beauty of a soul cast from Heaven and the alluring exquisiteness of a ruthless apparition forged in the flames of Hell.

The jagged knife was in his hand again. He was suddenly aware of its familiar weight in his clenched fist. He didn't have to look down to know that the blade was dripping drops of crimson, soiled with Anya's blood.

Heero stared at the blade meekly.

"Truth or dare, Heero," Duo taunted darkly, daring him to comment on his sinful deeds.

"You already know my truth," Heero insisted as he had before.

"Wanna know mine?" Duo smirked madly. "I was thinking about you the whole time, Heero. The whole time. She was a good fuck that one, but she moved about too much. I had to make her stop moving, Heero, so it will be the same. Quatre didn't understand."

Heero didn't seem surprised by his confession. Neither did he seem appalled by his crime. He simply sat there, observing him silently with a pair of cool Prussian blue eyes shimmering under the Earth's pale light.

Duo heard voices coming from behind him; muddled whispers approaching like a menacing flood. They filled the darkness stretching around them, rolling closer like a rumbling thunder. Duo turned to face the blackness, searching for the source of the jumbled voices.

All he saw was a dark void filled with glistening space-rations, hurtling towards him like speeding bullets.

"No! I don't want to remember!" Duo screamed, suddenly panicked, and whirled around towards the window. Heero was still sitting there, watching him calmly.

"Heero – it's coming! Please – stop it! Make it stop! I dun wanna know your truth!"

Heero rose to his feet swiftly. He snatched the knife from Duo's grip – and plunged it into his chest, stabbing his own heart. Duo watched the blood gush out of the wound, fascinated and mortified at once.

"It's okay," Heero spoke steadily; his heart bleeding. "I'll just forget. We can both forget this ever happened."

"Yes, yes," Duo hurried to agree, nodding excessively.

The projectile space-rations stopped abruptly in mid-air. Duo watched them fall to the metallic floor in a splattering clamor. He let out a sigh of relief.

"Thanks Heero, I knew I could always count on you," he said as he turned back to face his friend, but Heero was no longer there. There was only darkness; thick, black, menacing darkness.

"Heero?" he called and his voice echoed within the large metal-case vastness. "Where did you go? Heero!"

"Duo," he heard Heero's voice call from far away. He whirled around, searching.

"Where are you?!"

"Duo," Heero's voice resonated within the black void. He sounded distressed. Something was wrong.

"—DON'T!" Heero suddenly screamed, mortified.

"DUO – DON'T!"

"—DON'T!"

"DUO!" Heero's shout tore violently through the fabric of his dream and Duo awoke with start, his eyes flashing open as he shot up to a sitting position. He didn't even notice that he had fallen asleep.

"DUO!" Heero's voice sliced through the silence of the night once more. He sounded like he was in terrible pain.

Duo jumped off the sofa and ran to Heero's bedroom. He flung the door open quickly and stood at the doorway, panting. He saw Heero lying in his bed, writhing in pain. The young man was lying on his back, his broken arm sprawled on the mattress and his right arm clutching the blanket so hard that his knuckles had turned white. He was sweaty and pale, trembling with torment.

"Fuck, Heero – what's wrong?" Duo gasped and rushed towards the bed.

Heero turned to look at him with a pair of pained blue eyes and all Duo could think of was that he looked odd without his eyeglasses; defenseless, pitiable and deliciously open to attack. His insanity levels rose, crackling like burning coals scorching his mind. Weakness could not be tolerated; it must be vanquished – by any means necessary.

Duo swallowed hard. He closed his eyes briefly, begging the malicious thoughts to settle down. But with his eyes closed, all he could think of was that damn bloody knife and that terrible gash! He forced his eyes to snap open again quickly and took a quivery breath.

Heero needed him to keep his cool; he needed him to remain sane. He forced his mind to focus on the present. Heero was all that mattered now; he will help him despite the voices shrieking at him to indulge in the man's pain.

He knelt down by Heero's bed and placed a hand over the young man's quivering right arm, trying to offer comfort.

"Heero, what's wrong?" he spoke urgently; "How can I help?"

Heero's right arm flung up to grab Duo by the collar of his red T-shirt, using him as leverage to push himself up, glaring furiously into his eyes.

"Get me the FUCKING PHONE!" he gritted through clenched teeth. His fist was clenched tightly around Duo's collar, tugging the shirt forcefully with each angrily spoken word. His Prussian blue eyes, though clouded with pain, glared at Duo accusingly.

For a moment Duo was confused. "The phone?"

"Give it!" Heero rasped irritably and let go of Duo's T-shirt. He fell back against the pillows, exhausted. His eyes shifted to look away; he was undoubtedly feeling angry and ashamed of having to call for Duo's help.

"Heero, you don't look like you should be making a midnight-call to anyone right now."

"Stupid— so—baka!" Heero shouted furiously, grimacing in pain. "My leg... it's—" his voice was strained with barely suppressed pain, "—Something's wrong..." he moaned. Humiliated, he turned his head the other way so Duo will not see his anguish. He gasped and shuddered violently as pain racked through him. He let out a strained moan as his eyes clenched shut. Tears lingered to his thick eyelashes, some spilling onto his pale cheeks.

Duo had never seen Heero writhe under such agony before. He could still recall how, many years ago, he had witnessed Heero set the broken bones on that very same leg without even wincing. His high tolerance for pain, much like his physical strength, cool composure and resolve, seemed to have diminished over the years. It was yet another weakness which caused the darkness in the back regions of his mind to stir, gradually awakening from a long slumber. He fought to suppress and ignore it. Heero needed his help; he could not afford another insane slipup.

"Okay, okay, no panic," Duo mumbled, slightly out of breath for he himself was beginning to panic. "I'm calling an ambulance, just hang in there..."

He ran back to the living room. He dialed 911 and provided them with Heero's address, asking them to hurry. He rushed back to the bedroom, where Heero still lay in agony, clutching the blanket with his good arm.

"I called 911. They'll be here soon," he said softly as he knelt by Heero's bed again. "Just hang in there."

He reached for Heero's hand, the one clutching the blanket painfully, and forcefully pried Heero's fingers from their hold on the fabric to slip his palm under Heero's instead, forcing the tortured young man to grip his hand.

Heero turned his head to look at him; his eyes narrowed with anguish, tears still lingering to the corner of his eyes. Duo tried to give him a reassuring smile, but his lips were too heavy to lift. His heart was burdened, betrayed by the sight of Heero's open display of distress. His eerie dream still throbbed faintly in the back of his head, incessantly twisting his mind. He knew that he should feel for Heero's pain, but as he lay before him in a pathetic display of need and flaw, all Duo could come up with was a sort of an _'I told you so'_ feeling instead of sympathy for Heero's pain.

He too had lain writhing helplessly with pain when he had independently tried to detox himself back in prison. He had prayed for salvation or even a single hand to hold onto, but none came. The experience should be enough to make any sane person sympathize with his friend's agony; however Duo couldn't help but feel satisfaction for proving to Heero that he _did_ need him around. Deep down, he gloated at the probability that Heero had lain in pain for hours before finally giving in and calling out his name. Heero must have felt ashamed and pitiable as he had called for him and Duo was happy to know that. Instead of feeling worried for his friend, he felt victorious over him. Heero deserved what he was getting; he deserved the pain, every second of it.

Duo smirked as he realized that now Heero will have no choice but to accept that he needed him as a friend. He will make certain of that. He will force his way into Heero's heart again; he will drive into Heero hard and deep, making him cave, shatter and break—

_'Duo – don't!'_

Duo shuddered. He forced his mental walls to slam shut and contain the desperate cries echoing faintly in the back of his head. It was only his imagination, after all. It was only his madness, a dream – a beautiful nightmare. He never made Heero beg like that; how could he? Heero has always been untouchable, unbreakable. That was what made him so damn reliable. He used to be a pillar of strength; now, the pillar was crumbling before his eyes. He had to salvage what was left of Heero. He simply had to!

Grabbing hold of Heero's trembling and sweaty palm, Duo wrapped both his hands around it tightly. He brought Heero's hand up close to his face in an effort to somehow get through to Heero – _his_ Heero, buried somewhere underneath the pathetic _Hiro_ persona.

"Heero," he whispered, looking down at the man's pale face. Heero was breathing shallowly with pain as he held Duo's hand like a lifeline. At the sound of Duo's voice, he opened his eyes just a tiny slit and looked up. Duo struggled to find a trace of the person Heero used to be, searching for a familiar twinkle somewhere in the depths of his Prussian blue eyes. It wasn't easy; they were clouded with too much anguish.

Duo sighed. It was no use. Heero – _his_ Heero – was almost completely gone. He had to bring him back. It was the only thing he could think of to keep himself going. Otherwise, all the future will ever hold for him was the return to the streets, drugs and most likely prison. He will rescue _his_ Heero out of the wreck of a human being withering before him. He will make _Hiro_ Heero again and then everything will be alright, for both of them.

"Heero..." he tried to find his voice again, speaking slowly, carefully; "About what you said earlier... about how we can't be friends..."

"Not... now... Duo..." Heero gasped sharply and he fought to break his hand away from Duo's grasp. Duo would not let go and Heero gave up. He closed his eyes and took short pained breaths, trying to control the burning agony in his leg.

"Yes now," Duo insisted, yanking Heero's hand forcefully with each word he spoke. "Because now is the only time you'll hear me out. I wanna tell you that you _are_ my friend, Heero, no matter what. And I wanna be a friend to you too. We can chew each other out for all sorta shit, but in the end, we're still buddies. We've been through a whollota crap together. That makes us pals and I think that you wouldn't have let me into your home if you didn't think so too. You wouldn't have told that Preventer shithead to back off this morning if you didn't think I was worth it."

Heero turned to look at him, his blue eyes unreadable behind the pain. Duo gazed deeply into those Prussian blue eyes, hoping to find forgiveness, or at least some understanding. He found neither. All he saw was _Hiro_ staring back at him.

Dejected, he shifted his gaze away to stare at the streetlights filtering through the blinds beyond the bed. He sighed, watching the window numbly.

"I really don't know what else I can say to convince you that I mean well," he admitted quietly and felt Heero's sweaty hand twitch in his hold. He turned to look at him again. His cobalt blue eyes shone with an almost honest shine of sympathy and regret. "Because you _are_ important to me!" Duo insisted. "I _know_ that now. I can't think of anyone else but you cuz... you're all I've got, yanno? And I don't want you to hate me like this."

With a sigh, Duo fell silent and his shoulder slumped down helplessly. He held onto Heero's sweaty hand, waiting anxiously for the man to respond to his confession.

"Duo," Heero sighed wearily, "I don't hate you, I just—" There was an urgent knock on the door. Duo whirled around to look at the hallway but then turned back quickly to look at Heero again.

"You just what?" he demanded anxiously.

"Duo..." Heero moaned distressingly. "They're here."

"I know," Duo rasped back; "so just tell me – what were you saying?"

"Duo, please," Heero grimaced with pain. His fist clutched Duo's hand tightly. "Not now..."

"Just tell me," Duo insisted even as the persistent knocking echoed within the apartment.

"Tell me, Heero," he commanded harshly. "Tell me and I'll let them in."

Heero glared at him defiantly. Duo knew that he was walking a dangerous line. He had just offered Heero his aid, his friendship and a promise to make it all better, yet instead he was making threats, denying Heero of the medical assistance he needed. He couldn't help it. Heero was just about to say something to him; something vital, something that could very well save his sanity. He needed to hear it. He needed Heero to say it. He will make him say it; one way or the other.

Towering over Heero, he leaned down so he could look squarely into Heero's anguished Prussian blue eyes.

"If you don't hate me, then why do you keep saying you can't be my friend?" He demanded harshly. Heero gazed up at him silently. His lips were pressed together tightly, refusing to speak. The paramedics rang the doorbell. Chowder howled loudly from within the laundry room. Heero's eyes shifted from the bedroom door to Duo and then again. He prepared to get up on his own. Duo pushed him back against the bed. Heero fell back against the pillow, wincing painfully.

"Tell me," Duo hissed, leaning even closer to Heero. Malice gleamed darkly in his cobalt eyes.

"I can't..." Heero whispered, shaking his head. "Just... just let them in already..."

"I'll let them in as soon as you tell me."

"I can't..."

"Why! What are you afraid of!"

Heero turned his head to look the other way, trying to avoid looking into Duo's harsh eyes.

"Dammit!" Duo exploded furiously. His arm flew up to punch the pillow, a mere inch from Heero's head. "Are you afraid I'm gonna go ballistic on you? Or maybe on your _son?_ Is that who you take me for – some no-good homicidal maniac?! What did that faggot Ozzie tell you?! That I'm some fucked-up nutjob? Is that it?!"

"No..." Heero moaned and grimaced in pain. He turned his head to look the other way. "I... it's not... your fault..."

"Then why da fuck do you resent me for it so damn much!"

Heero remained silent. Still facing away from Duo, he stared numbly at the wall.

Duo snorted in disgust. "Fine, be that way," he muttered disdainfully and finally moved away from the bed. "Fucking pathetic!"

Cussing, Duo went to answer the door and let the paramedics in.

*             *             *

Six hours later found Duo sitting on a rickety plastic chair next to Heero's hospital bed, watching the young man's haggard face, expressionless in a drug-induced sleep. His lips were dry and chapped, slightly agape under heavy slumber. His lax features were a sharp contrast of pale white skin and dark-blue bruises marring the left side of his face. His closed eyes were red and swollen under thin bloodshot eyelids; his dark eyelashes rested delicately over pale cheeks. An oxygen tube was attached under his nostrils, aiding his breathing as he recovered from surgery. An IV line ran into his right arm while his broken left arm remained in a cast, lying limply at his side. After being operated on, his left leg was placed in a thick and bulky splint which bulged under the blanket. All in all, Heero looked like a damaged porcelain doll; due to his naturally good looks, the sight was close to grotesque.

In the wee hours of the night, the hospital halls were dim and quiet. Only a faint light illuminated the small hospital room, located in one of the internal wards at Pennsylvania Hospital. It was a private room, which suggested that Heero must have some pretty damn good insurance; Duo didn't expect anything else from the sugar-coated life Heero seemed to be living.

Waiting for the young man to come out of the effects of the anesthesia, Duo observed his pale, ill-looking features dully. He shifted his uncomfortable position and resumed listening to the heavy sound of Heero's breathing, lost in thought.

The paramedics allowed him to ride in the ambulance with them. As soon as they arrived at the ER, Heero was rushed to the X-Ray room and then straight to surgery. Duo was left standing around anxiously in the waiting room as the three-hour-long surgery took place. Only after Heero had spent an hour more in recovery and was then transferred to a private hospital room at the Internal Ward, did the doctors allow Duo to see him.

An inflatable blood-pressure cuff was wrapped around Heero's upper right arm. Suddenly, it hissed, inflating slowly to take its hourly measurement. Duo turned a pair of numb cobalt eyes to look up at the monitor above the bed. He studied Heero's vital signs quietly. Everything registered normal: heartbeat and blood pressure included. Some nameless doctor assured him earlier that the surgery was a success and that there was nothing to worry about. Apparently, due to the accident Heero went through that afternoon, some damn platinum bolt – a result of an old injury – had shifted in his left femur and had caused some tissue damage and distress to the bone. The surgeons dove in and fixed it, so now all that was left was for Heero to come out from under the effects of the anesthesia. He was informed that there will be need for a little physiotherapy and recovery, but all in all Heero hadn't suffered any acute or permanent damage.

Duo would have liked to feel relieved at that assurance, but instead he felt numb. Everything seemed surreal. He felt very out of place sitting next to Heero's hospital bed. It didn't feel right to see Heero in such a vulnerable and fragile state; in a way, he had to admit that it even repulsed him. He felt awful for feeling the way he did, but something inside him simply could not tolerate Heero's weakness. It was just plain _wrong._ It was darn right _sinful_. The need to punish the sinners called for action; it called for the demons in his head to rise from the deeps and breach the dams keeping his insanity from flooding the rest of his mind. Once released, the flood drowned his psyche, filling his mind like dark ocean water filled a sinking ship. One compartment after another flooded with dark cold water, drowning everything under a thick heavy blanket of menacing dimness. Suffocated by those powerful emotions, Duo gasped like a drowned man out of water. He struggled against the dark storms raging in his head, fighting to cling onto something pure and sane that would keep him afloat.

_'It's not... your fault...'_ He suddenly recalled Heero's words. How could he have known that those were the exact words he wanted to hear for so long? The jury never believed him. Even his lawyer didn't believe him; he was just doing his job. Quatre certainly never believed him. Only Heero did, and he didn't even know about what happened.

Or did he?

Wait a minute – did he?!

Marissa and Jerry certainly seemed to know about it. Was Heero in on it too?

Suddenly mortified, Duo covered his face in his hands.

"Oh shit."

Heero knew... He knew! He must have known all along! That was what his sick dreams were trying to tell him – wasn't it? He must have picked up on it on a subconscious level: Heero knew about Anya.

"Fuck," he groaned into the palms of his hands. Heero _knew_. That was why the man continuously denied his offers of friendship! It wasn't because of anything he had done to Heero – he has been beating himself up over nothing! Heero was just upset with him for what he did to that damn Lolita girl!

"Dammit," he whispered angrily. Heero has been playing dirty tricks on him, leading him to believe that he was a crappy and unreliable friend. Bullshit! He hadn't done Heero any wrong! It was all because of that damn Lolita slut! She was back to haunt him – the damn whore!

Heero moaned.

Alarmed, Duo let his hands down, uncovering his face slowly, nervously.

"Heero?" he dared to whisper the man's name. His heart thumped wildly. He didn't tjink he'd have to confront Heero about his charges, but if Heero knew about it then the issue had to be addressed. They had to get it out of the way so they could be friends again.

The young man's right hand twitched, his fingers moving slightly as though trying to grasp something.

"Heero?" Duo tried again and straightened tensely in his seat. Again Heero let out a sleepy moan. His eyes remained closed but his chapped lips parted slightly. He licked his dry lips and winced, turning his head aside in pain. He let out a short dry cough and then grimaced at the pain it jolted in him.

Duo watched worriedly. "Are you thirsty?" he asked just to break the silence. At the sound of his voice, Heero's eyes fluttered slowly open. He blinked repeatedly, trying to focus his gaze on Duo.

Encouraged by the obvious sign of consciousness, Duo leaned forward anxiously and placed both hands on Heero's limp arm. The touch seemed to jerk Heero awake. He gasped, rising slightly off the pillow, before he grimaced painfully and fell back against the bed, coughing weakly. He closed his eyes again, moaning miserably.

"Are you okay?" Duo asked.

"M-ma leg... hu'ts..." Heero complained in a bleary tone. Duo almost laughed at the childish whine; he never imagined he would hear Heero speak that way.

"Should I call a doctor?" he asked instead, though he was still smiling. He couldn't help it; the whole situation was so bizarre! He felt awkward; the smile was uncontrollable.

Heero didn't respond for a while, but after a long pause, he shook his head 'no'.

"What—" he coughed; wincing."—happened?" he whispered weakly and struggled to open his eyes again. His eyelids were swollen and heavy; they refused to stay up for very long.

"You were hit by a car," Duo reminded him; "You busted your bad leg again."

Confused, Heero shifted his gaze up at Duo. "Car..?" he asked in a cracking voice, unable to raise his tone above a feeble whisper.

"Yeah," Duo grumbled; "some bitch ran into you while you were crossing the road."

"But—!" He was suddenly attacked by a fit of dry coughs which seemed to be hurting him for he winced after each one, struggling to control his breath. Exhausted, he fell back against the bed and closed his eyes, shaking his head in denial.

"Not... Ze—ro?" His croaky voice broke mid-sentence.

"Zero?" Duo echoed in confusion.

"I thought..." Heero tried to explain as he fought to keep his eyes open. "I thought..." he repeated as his eyes shifted to scan the room gingerly. Confusion was apparent on his haggard face as he narrowed his eyes, struggling to see. He tried to raise his head off the pillow again, but failed. Instead, he raised his broken arm up a bit and stared in bewilderment at the cast around it. His behavior worried Duo.

"Heero?" he called his name softly, "Everything alright?"

Heero continued to stare at his arm silently. "It... wasn't...b'oken..." he mumbled almost inaudibly. His speech was heavily slurred, an effect of the fading anesthesia. He shifted his gaze back at Duo, confused. "Why 's it... broken?"

Duo frowned. "I told you – you got hit by a car."

"When?"

"Dunno," Duo shrugged; "Sometime yesterday. You didn't bother telling me much about it."

Heero nodded, blinking slowly. Unable to keep his eyes open any longer, he closed them and leaned back against the pillow. Duo noted that the man's eyelids were very swollen. The swelling was getting worse by the second.

"Maybe I should call a doctor," he hurried to say and prepared to get up. "I think you're having a nasty reaction to the drugs they gave ya."

"Don't—" Heero raised his hand up to stop him; however his arm fell back against the bed. He was too weak to keep it up. Duo got the hint though and sat back down.

"Duo..." Heero moaned quietly, keeping his eyes closed; "You'll... stay?" he asked carefully, as uncertain as a child. Duo didn't know if to smile or sob. That morning Heero confessed that he couldn't wait for the week to end and have him out of his life again. Now he seemed frightened by the idea of him leaving. Duo didn't know what to make of it.

"Yeah, Heero, if you wanna, I'll stay," he replied with a weary sigh. After a short pause, Heero nodded his head slowly in appreciation. He lay still for a long while. Duo figured that he had fallen back to sleep, but then Heero's mouth opened slightly as he licked his dry lips once more.

"Is it... over?" he rasped weakly.

Duo sighed; he was tired of guessing the meaning behind Heero's muddled words. "What is?"

Heero struggled to open his swollen eyes, managing to lift his numb eyelids just a bit, exposing a clear slit of blue under numb and heavy eyelids. He stared painfully at Duo.

"That... girl..." he whispered shakily, his voice faltering with fatigue; "She... we... I... stopped... her... right?"

"Stopped who, Heero? I don't get it."

"All this... jumping... I... I fell and she... I crashed and I... I think I... I punched you? I shot her, but... not for real. You weren't real... and it hurt... so much..."

Heero's sketchy explanation was all over the place, but it rang more than enough bells. It wasn't hard for Duo to tell that the confused young man was flashing back to the battle against Marimeia, back in Christmas 196: the night he crashed his Gundam to end yet another dispute; the night he had punched him, rendered him unconscious and left for good.

Could this be? Was he really getting a chance to get some insight into what happened during those crazy hours of the rebellion? Will Heero finally reveal his secret?

Excited by the notion, Duo leaned forward and took Heero's hand in his. His palm was cold and frail; the skin was dry and coarse to the touch. Duo clasped Heero's palm in both his hands. He tried to offer the man a smile, though his heart was too heavy to pull off anything remotely honest.

"Yeah, Heero, it's over," he assured the young man; "You beat the crap outta the bad guys and went out with a _bang_ ," he said sadly. He was certain that Heero would rather burn out in a last blaze of glory rather than to fade away and become the wretched person lying in front of him.

Heero closed his eyes and nodded slowly, apparently reassured that his ordeal was over. After a moment, he opened his eyes again, frowning at Duo. "But you're... here?" he asked carefully, unsure.

"Where else would I be?" Duo chuckled nervously.

Heero seemed confused. "But..." he murmured tiredly; Duo could have sworn that his weak voice was trembling with tears. "I... I left... You... you... you weren't supposed to... to come back... It... it's... it hurts..." he moaned in pain, turning his head to face the other way, closing his eyes sadly. "It... took me... t-two... years... to... to walk... again and..." he sighed miserably; tears were lingering to his closed eyelashes. "No one was... there..."

Something cold and sharp pricked Duo's heart; an icy stab of pain - guilt. Heero's muddled confession confused him. It was hard to keep up with his irrational speech. Was Heero flashing back or not? Was he blaming him for something, or was he blaming himself? And why in God's name did he feel so guilty, so responsible for the despair he was witnessing? Why should he feel responsible if Heero was the one who left!?

"I'm here now, Heero," he assured him, hoping that it would ease the heavy burning feeling in his chest, hoping he might get through to Heero and finally sort through the mess.

"No..." Heero moaned mournfully and shook his head against the pillow; "Not really... here... not... you..."

"Heero, stay with me here," Duo implored; "I'm losing you. Are you angry that I never came back for you?"

"You... you should stay... away... Please... Duo... don't... don't... you... you forgot, but I... I can't..."

Feeling anxious, Duo straightened in his seat and tightened his hold on Heero's hand. "What did I forget, Heero?" He asked uneasily. "Please tell me. What is it you don't want me to remember?"

Heero stilled; his eyes remained closed and his head facing the other way. Disappointed, Duo bowed his head down and heaved a burdened sigh. He stared numbly at Heero's frail hand, which was still held between his palms. Heero had fallen asleep again.

"I can't even... say it..." Heero suddenly whispered; apparently he was still awake.

Duo looked up again. "What can't you say, Heero? What are you hiding from me? Please tell me. I hate seeing you like this. What was so bad that you can't even speak about it? Please tell me what I've done wrong. I'll fix it, I will. It's what I came here for. I want to go back to how it used to be."

"No..." Heero shook his head continually against the pillow. "Don't... we... can't..."

"Da fuck not!" Duo snapped, furious. "Give me one good reason and I leave you da fuck alone!"

"I... can't..." Heero whispered; "It... it wasn't... wasn't... it's not... not your fault..."

"What isn't?" Duo scowled warily. "You mean what happened with Quatre's niece?" he dared to ask; he had to confirm if Heero knew or not.

"Quatre?" Heero opened his eyes, blinking repeatedly, frowning. He slowly turned his head back towards Duo. He seemed appalled. "Quatre... knows?"

"Dammit, Heero!" Duo burst in frustration and jumped to his feet. "You're not making any fucking sense! Da Hell are we talking about here anyway? Past? Present? Future?!"

"Mostly the future..." Heero whispered feebly, making no sense at all. Duo stopped his animated shouting and gaped at the man lying injured on the bed.

"You're delusional," he finally muttered and settled back down. He rubbed his face tiredly, weary and upset. He sighed and turned his gaze back to Heero. The young man was looking at him silently through half-lidded, swollen, eyes.

"So tell me this:" Duo sighed; "if we're talking about the future, can't we just put the past behind us and be friends again?" he pleaded helplessly; "It'd be just like old times, yanno? When we knew that we could count on each other. I swear to God I can be that person again. For you, Heero, I know I can. Can't you see that you make me better? It's a used up cliché, but it's true. I can't think of anyone else I can count on but you. Remember how you used to depend on me too? We were there for each other once... Why can't we go back? What happened? "

For one blessed moment, Duo was sure that he had gotten through to Heero. The man seemed to be listening intently to what he had to say.

"Christmas..." he finally whispered his answer – and it was completely incoherent. Duo sighed, disappointed. "Christmas?" he repeated numbly and slumped back into his chair. " _Christmas_ happened," he grumbled huffily, for it made no sense at all.

Heero confirmed with a small nod of his head; he was falling asleep.

"Right," Duo muttered with another sigh and covered his face with his hands, upset. The young man's coherency seemed to have completely slipped away.

"You're not even with me here, are you, Heero?" he asked, sighing. Uncovering his face again, he looked at Heero, his eyes shining worriedly. The man had already succumbed to slumber, but then as Duo fell silent he cracked his eyes slightly open, as though to make sure that Duo was still there. Once he asserted that he was, he closed his eyes again. Less than a minute passed and he suddenly woke up again, looking around for Duo. It seemed that Heero was actually afraid of being alone. Touched, he reached for Heero's frail hand and squeezed it tightly.

"Go to sleep," he whispered softly; "I'll be here when you wake up," he promised quietly. His assurance seemed to calm Heero down enough to sleep again.

"Don't let Ozzies walk over me..." he slurred drowsily and drifted back to sleep.

Duo frowned at the odd request. Heero was completely out of it. Should he even trust anything he had said?

"Sure," he sighed, "You got it," he promised Heero anyway. He still had no idea why Heero insisted on rejecting his attempts to make amends, but at least now he knew that the young man was driven more by fear than by anger. Heero was actually _afraid_ of him – and that scared him more than anything else.

*             *             *

 

**To be continued in Chapter 09: Forgotten:**

"I took care of all the bureaucracy and paperwork," Relena informed him, "You are now officially someone else."

oOo

"There's a hospital in Philadelphia willing to take you in for the long run. Preventer has arranged everything. There's nothing I can do..."

oOo

"I'm so sorry for this, Heero... I'm so sorry..." she sobbed brokenly as her heart crumbled under the realization that she had just become the next person to fail him.

oOo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Still with me?


	11. Chapter 09: Forgotten

**One Week - Part 11/20**

**Chapter 0** **9: Forgotten**

Late at night, the emergency room of Hôpital Saint Michel was buzzing with activity. The staff had been called away from their families on the holiest night of the year in order to pull emergency shifts. A battle had taken place in the ESUN capital, leaving whole neighborhoods in ruins and many casualties in demand of immediate medical attention.

Christmas Eve, AC 196, was the final stage of an unending act. Humanity was once again divided, Earth and Space fighting for a chance to rid humanity from a nasty habit of constant conflict, or to plunge it back into an endless waltz of war and peace. Terrorists had taken hold of the ESUN's presidential palace in Brussels. A faction had been formed between ex-OZ and Colony Resistance in an attempt to change the newly formed status quo of peacetime. Preventer was sent into the fight and even the Gundam pilots were summoned to wage battle once more, tipping the scale in Preventer's favor.

Now that the battle has been won, the messy aftermath remained. Red, orange and blue lights flashed within the ER halls, coming from the large windows and glass doors leading into the hospital. Emergency vehicles of every kind were parked outside and the wounded kept pouring in one by one. The atmosphere was hectic; doctors and nurses ran up and down the corridors, barking out orders as they struggled to deal with the large amount of wounded being rushed into the ER.

Priorities had to be set. The dead were left lying in body bags on the floor, resting along the corridors' walls as the medical staff first tended to the living and dying. Treatment of non-critical injuries was postponed. Exhausted soldiers in enemy and friendly uniforms alike sat together in a crowded waiting room, holding broken limbs against their bodies and pressing gauzes against bloody cuts until the staff will become available to treat their lighter wounds.

Gurneys were pushed hastily down the halls and into elevators, being carried away into the operating rooms. The hospital's ORs have reached full capacity. More priorities had to be set. Surgeries were postponed in accordance to urgency. More patients were left unattended once they were brought into the ER. There wasn't enough room to contain the wounded and no other place to transfer them to, for all the hospitals in the capital were full far beyond their capacity. Gurneys were pushed deeper and deeper into the farthest corners of the hospital; weary patients waited their turn in dark corridors.

A lone gurney stood in one such corridor, set along the wall, hidden in shadows. A minor was lying on the gurney, his skinny figure dressed in a torn pair of bright blue jeans and a tattered green tank top; both were soaked with blood. His scruffy brown hair was also caked with blood, chunks of it glued to his scalp, brow, temples and ears. Numerous cuts slashed his young features. His limp body had been laid in an awkward position, sprawled across the gurney as if tossed there uncaringly. His left leg was bent unnaturally; a shoe was missing from his left foot and his toes were peeking out of a white, dirty, torn sock. His bare muscular arms were spread out by his sides, bruised and bloody as well.

Two women, a doctor and a nurse, came running down the hallway towards the elevators at its end. Just as they passed by the gurney, the doctor stopped, looking at the pale, unconscious young man lying there.

"What's wrong with him?" she asked as she picked his hand up urgently, pressing her fingers against his wrist to check his pulse.

"He's been brought in from the palace wreckage," the nurse replied anxiously, glancing towards the elevator with a sense of urgency in her eyes. "Looks like broken bones. Dr. Benton said it could wait."

"Was he unconscious when they brought him in?"

"I don't know. He could have just fallen asleep."

The doctor hesitated a moment longer, looking worriedly at the unconscious young patient. She studied his blood-streaked face, staring at the large bruise on his forehead, which was slowly turning from a deep red to a purplish-blue.

"He's so young... what was he doing there?"

"I don't know," the nurse sighed. "Emma, we have to get going."

"Fine," the doctor finally said as she released his hand, placing it gently on the gurney. "Let's go. They're waiting for us in the OR."

The two rushed on, leaving the unconscious young patient behind. Hours went by in a frantic blur. Suddenly, the teenager's hand twitched. A pair of Prussian blue eyes flashed open and with a sharp gasp, Heero shot up to a sitting position. A jumble of memories attacked him; a cluttered replay of recent events flashing through his head as his mind struggled to catch up:

He was inside Wing ZERO, fighting over the palace. His hand curled tightly around the pilot stick. He pulled it back forcefully and _fired_. ZERO shook violently, metal screeching and groaning. It was falling apart. The noise was deafening. Consoles short circuited, frying. The smell of smoke was in the air. Electric sparks stung his skin. Everything burst into flames. Wing ZERO crumbled into pieces, dropping down fast. Powerful G-forces threw him around the cockpit as the massive Gundam plunged towards the ground. ZERO was drilling an impossible amount of information into his brain: battle statistics and predictions, risk assessments, everything. It all came rushing into him at once. The System was going haywire, collapsing. ZERO predicted that odds of survival were less than 5%. He was inferior, weak, _human_. No, not human – a _dog_. He was a dog. No, _human_. _Dog!_ Human! _Dog!_ Human! Voices shrieked in his head. Innocents were dying. _They_ were human; people he had to protect. Within the unbearable clamor, a single voice that was still his own sadly whispered _'I'm sorry...'_ and then everything went abruptly silent.

A last stream of images flashed rapidly before his eyes, slowing down gradually. Duo's face featured in almost every single one: happy Duo, angry Duo, ruthless Duo, laughing Duo, miserable Duo, fatigued Duo, injured Duo, concerned Duo, chattering Duo, sleeping Duo, smirking Duo, gentle Duo... and finally one last image stuck: _evil_ Duo was glaring at him fiercely, smirking darkly.

Impact shook his world and in a flash, everything vanished. By the end of the replay, Heero was convulsing on the hospital gurney. He fell back, moaning in pain, and stared up at the ceiling through blurry, tearful eyes. Even as his consciousness slipped away, a tortured expression remained on his haggard, blood-streaked face.

"Duo... don't..." he whispered a final plea before his eyes rolled back into his head. His eyes closed slowly, tears squeezing out between his lashes. The hospital continued to buzz with chaotic activity. Heero remained forgotten on the gurney, unconscious. Blood was trickling from his ears and nose, while tears slid down his pale cheeks.

*             *             *

As the sun set over the city of Brussels and the skies slowly darkened, Vice Foreign Minister Relena Darlian sat hunched over a pile of paperwork inside a small private room at Hôpital Saint Michel. She was sitting in an old ragged armchair and before her stood a small plastic table; both were placed in the room especially for her use. An old desk lamp rested on the table next to a pile of paperwork. As the sun set behind the city horizon, the lamp served to light the room dimly. In the darkness surrounding her, the lamp barely provided enough light to read her notes, forcing her to hunch over them in order to be able to read properly.

The room was silent, aside from the mechanical sound of the respiratory machine breathing oxygen into a patient's lungs and the faint beeping of a heart monitor. At the center of the room, lying perfectly still on a hospital bed, was Heero. His life was betrayed solely by the artificially-induced steady rise and fall of his chest being fed oxygen by the respiratory machine. Under the covers, his left leg lay inside a large bulky splint and his arms lay limply at his sides. An IV line ran into his left arm, where a finger sensor was clipped around his left index finger, measuring his vital signs. An inflatable cuff was wrapped around his upper right arm, to measure his blood pressure. Various wires and electrodes ran under his hospital gown, including a gastric feeding tube and a urinary catheterization tube connected to a bag hanging discreetly at the side of his bed. His head had been shaved, and was wrapped with a thick white bandage tainted with large stains dark orange of iodine.

Two months had passed since Heero was brought into the hospital. He had suffered a serious head injury after crashing the Wing ZERO Gundam on the Presidential Palace during the final battle over the capital. The brain trauma was so severe that doctors had no choice but to perform a hemicraniectomy to alleviate brain swelling. A part of his skull was removed, to allow his brain room to expand with the swelling, before being returned in a second surgery days later. His once unruly locks of fine chocolate-brown hair which used to fall over his eyes in a manner she had held so dear, were now gone. Patches of skin on his pale bald head peeked from within the thick bandage. He seemed small and frail, vulnerable; a depleted husk of a human being.

The digital clock on the medical monitor above the bed flashed 21:00 and the room was filled with a quiet hissing sound as the blood pressure cuff inflated around Heero's arm to take its hourly measurement. The sound startled Relena, who was engrossed in her paperwork. Gasping silently, she looked up, a hopeful shine in her blue eyes. Each little sound coming from the direction of the bed raised a new hope of Heero waking up from his long coma. However, like many times before, her wish remained unfulfilled as she realized that it was only the medical equipment she was hearing.

Sighing heavily, Relena put her pen down and rose from the armchair to stretch her legs. She gathered her long dishwater-blonde hair into a ponytail and stood at the center of the room, looking at Heero's bed. She approached it slowly and gazed lengthily at his lifeless figure. Never before had she had the liberty to watch him so closely without feeling inclined to look away quickly. Looking at Heero for longer than a few seconds used to be about as perilous as gazing at the sun. Her eyes filled with tears as she studied his expressionless face: pale chapped lips forced open by the respiratory tube running into his open mouth, the ashen shade of his hollow cheeks and his thick dark eyelashes resting against them gently as his eyes remained closed in a comatose sleep.

The bruises and cuts which had marred his handsome face had long healed since the crash. Thin, light brown facial-stubble covered scattered areas across his cheeks and chin; a very faint five o'clock shadow which a nurse will shave carefully once she will wash him in the morning. When Relena had first met Heero, he had been but a boy, his features smooth and youthful. Since she had only gotten the chance to meet him after long intervals, she has had the privilege of observing the obvious changes in him as he matured. During the past few years, and much like she had, Heero had rapidly grown from a youthful teenager to a nearly full-fledged adult. Although, at seventeen years of age, his attractive features remained quite boyish, even more so in his long oblivious slumber.

Reflecting back to the night two months ago, when he had come to her rescue, Relena was flooded with a terrible sense of guilt. Heero had walked out of Wing ZERO's wreckage and into the palace bunker on two shaky feet. While he had limped and wobbled heavily from side to side, she never would have guessed that the bones on the left side of his pelvis and his left leg were fractured and crushed badly. He stood firmly in place, aiming a gun at Mariemeia Khushrenada, looking much the worse for wear, but not as bad as she had later realized.

While his speech had been slurred and somewhat incoherent, she never would have suspected that he was suffering from something worse than a concussion. Even when he had fired with an unloaded gun and then mumbled something about killing the little girl while he hadn't even taken a real shot, she couldn't have possibly known a thing.  Even when he had fainted soon after murmuring the incoherent words, she had never suspected that something could be so terribly wrong.

In the chaos which followed the moments after Heero collapsed into her arms, she never had the time to really process what was happening or what could be wrong with the unconscious Wing ZERO pilot. When the medics carried him away from the bunker, she walked by the stretcher, holding his limp cold hand. The medics said that he was suffering from broken bones and a possible concussion – that's it. They put him at the bottom of their priority list as they hurried to tend to others who seemed more seriously injured.

Heero had lain on that stretcher for hours, stranded on the field, as other men and women were taken by choppers to various hospitals around the city. She sat next to him the whole time, looking around anxiously, waiting for someone – _anyone!_ – to offer medical assistance. When she grew tired of waiting, she stomped towards the nearest medic and demanded that Heero would be tended to. An ambulance came and took him away. She wasn't allowed to ride to the hospital with the ambulance, for it was packed with patients. She had no idea where they had taken him. Later she was shocked to find out that even in the ER, Heero's gurney was shoved into some isolated corridor as nurses and doctors rushed past him on their way to tend to others instead.

If only she had insisted more... If only she demanded that they took her with them, then Heero wouldn't have been left forgotten in that damn ER. He would have been taken cared of sooner. The earlier a brain injury was treated, the better the chances were of the patient recovering. The doctors could not assure her if he would ever come out of the coma; the brain trauma was too great. If only she had remained by his side, Heero might have not been lying on a hospital bed for so long.

It was her fault.

It was her fault for abandoning him.

Like many times before, Heero came to her rescue. He came to save the world from war once again, and that was how she had repaid him. The guilt was unbearable, and so she sat in his room, night after night, waiting for him to open his eyes so she could apologize.

The rest of the pilots disappeared in the mess that followed the battle around the palace. Days later, she received a report that three Gundams – 03, 02 and 04 – were found destroyed outside of Brussels. A forth Gundam's ruins, 05's, were later found in a forest somewhere in South-East China. The four Gundams were destroyed by self-detonation. Heero's had been the only Gundam wrecked in battle, and he was the only pilot who was accounted for. She tried to locate the other four, but so far had little luck. She could not fathom a reason for them to abandon Heero the way they had, but then again, considering how Heero had parted with them at the end of the Eve War, she couldn't help but feel that it was to be expected. An eye for an eye: he too had vanished without a trace after the fall of Libra, perhaps they were returning the favor. She could only guess, for she knew very little about the dynamics of their small group. All she knew was that they all preferred to work alone and if Heero thought it was absolutely necessary – he would take Duo along.

During the war, she did her best to keep track of Heero. She even managed to track him down at one of the boarding schools he had infiltrated as a student. Duo was always there right beside him, so she had assumed that the two were as close as two boys of their status could be. She was informed by Preventer that the two had even teamed up again when the Mariemaia Uprising broke out. Preventer asked for their help tracking her down when she was kidnapped. Now that the ordeal was over, Relena wondered why Duo didn't stick around. Didn't he know that his partner was gravely injured? Didn't he care?

Something must have happened, some stupid clash that chased Duo away. Considering Heero's difficult and tenacious nature, she wouldn't be surprised if a dispute has broken out between the two of them. Heero wasn't a very easy person to be around. One had to be careful not to push him too far, but she had the feeling that Duo didn't really abide by that rule. The braided pilot was heedless, yet considering the time he had spent with Heero, she was certain that he knew how to handle him. Otherwise, he would have been long dead. That left her wondering what could have happened. If Duo was out there holding some grudge and waiting for an apology, he might have to wait for a long time. She had no way of telling him that Heero couldn't possibly rectify the situation. He wasn't showing any signs of even remote consciousness. Doctors explained that he wasn't responding to any external stimuli, including pain. He was only considered alive because some brain activity was registering on the monitors.

Her eyes shone sadly as she continued to study his handsome features. Hesitantly, she reached for his hand; it was limp and lifeless, but warm. She held gently in her palm, relishing in the feeling of his warm touch against her skin. Leaning slightly forward, she reached a second hand up to caress his face tenderly, sadly wishing that he still had his hair so she could gently brush his bangs away from his closed eyes, the way she had dreamed of and longed doing since the day she had first laid eyes on his remarkably striking features.

She missed the breathtaking Prussian blue of his eyes; she missed the intense fire that burnt so wildly within the dark-blue depths of his eyes. Standing by his bed, gazing at his lifeless pallid features, she sadly reflected on the look in his eyes that night on Libra, at the end of the Eve War. The way he had looked at her then, moments before taking Wing ZERO into the heart of Libra, was something she will never forget. She had never seen his eyes so expressive, so full of passion and care. While she begged him not to go, not to fight, Heero asked her to trust him, to believe in his ability to stop the war, to stop her brother from plunging humanity into darkness. His eyes shone with nothing but sympathy for her pain as he explained how her life was far more valuable than his own, how he was willing to die in battle if it meant that she could survive and bring peace. It was the first and only time he had explained himself to her. _'Please let me go,'_ he asked her softly and she let him, trusting him to be able to make it out alive.

As the cockpit's door closed behind him, Relena saw his eyes glimmer in the hangar's faint light. He was so beautiful; truly remarkable in every way. It was the first and only time she has had the privilege of seeing him that way, really seeing him for who he was underneath the callous training of a soldier: a heartfelt hero; passionate... humane. Although he held very little value to his own life, he still wanted to survive. She saw it in his eyes; his gaze hadn't been regretful about dying, but hopeful about living. That night she had realized how much Heero had changed throughout the war; she was proud of him for coming so far.

However, soon after the battle was over, that soft, small and hopeful light in his eyes vanished; vanquished somehow. The pilots' short stay on MO2, right after the battle was won, had changed Heero in some way. Just when she thought Heero managed to make great progress as a person, that he had taken a giant leap towards his humanity, he suddenly regressed and shut everyone out.

She caught him just before he was about to leave the MO2 station, bumping into him in the halls leading to the hangar where the Gundams were stored. He seemed to be in quite a rush and much disheveled: his hair was scruffier than usual and his features were terribly pale. His flight suit's zipper, which ran diagonally across the chest, was undone, flapping open to reveal a green tank top underneath.

When their gazes locked, he looked at her with a pair of wide, empty, blue eyes. She felt she was being sucked into a dark void. Surprised to see him so disconcert and in obvious turmoil, she somehow managed to stutter a faint 'hello'. He had swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his throat as though forcing down something terribly painful. For a long tense moment he simply gaped at her, panting shallowly through his mouth. She felt as though he was about to say something, but then he just bolted and ran towards the hangar. She had never seen him run away, not from anything, and the sight left her trembling with a dark forbidding feeling. She stood there in a stupor, unable to shake a dreadful, suffocating feeling that something was terribly wrong with Heero.

The next time she had laid eyes on him, he was back to his usual self: intense yet cool, distant yet selfless. A few months after their abrupt parting on MO2, on April AC 196, Heero had secretly left her a teddy bear on her sixteenth birthday, leaving it on her seat in a space shuttle just before takeoff. Turning to the window, she caught the sight of his retreating figure. She called out his name and, whether he had heard her through the shuttle walls or not, he had nonetheless turned to face at her. There was a familiar calm in his eyes, unlike when she had last seen him on MO2. He seemed to be doing fine.

Months later, a group of terrorists schemed to hijack the Gundams and assassinate her. Just like always, Heero came to her rescue. Much to her surprise, he had offered her a short, sweet kiss at the end of that escapade. It was her first kiss and what was supposed to be the most divine moment of her life so far. It hardly was...

The moment his firm lips touched hers with such decisive precision, Relena finally understood what she meant to Heero, and it wasn't what she had hoped for. She was his friend; despite the kiss, she knew that his regard for her was clearly platonic. There was no passion in his kiss, only desperation. It was a cry for help. His lips crashed against hers in one precise motion and his despair hit her like a bolt of lightning. Suddenly, his dire need for her friendship loomed like a dark shadow over her heart. She felt like he was clinging to her as though she was the only person he had in this world. In his own bizarre and inapt way, Heero was asking for her promise to remain by his side. He needed her; and he was willing to express it clearly and physically. Even as young and inexperienced as she was, the moment his rigid lips had touched hers without a hint of romance, she knew that he feared her abandonment and he was unashamed of admitting it to her in a most intimate way. That was how much she meant to Heero and knowing that, she felt even guiltier for abandoning him on Christmas Eve; allowing him to be forgotten on a stretcher as his life slowly slipped away until all that was left of him was a ghostly, empty, husk.

Tears streamed silently down her cheeks.

The touch of his skin against her body as he had pulled her in for that kiss still clung to her flesh like a phantom memory; forever etched onto her skin like a hot burn mark. That kiss had been his plea of her, his request for her care and friendship, but she was so stunned by his atypical and unexpected action that she couldn't return the gesture with a promise of her own. He had reached out to her in desperation, asking her to accept his plea and she froze, unable to respond in kind. There was a sorrowful, helpless but empathetic look shining tragically in his eyes as he had pulled away slowly. He knew that he had surprised her; he knew that she was confused, and he understood. He forgave her for her lack of reaction; however she could not forgive herself.

Her tears fell onto his bed, some dripping onto his bare, lifeless, arm. Relena began to shake, trying to hold back the sobs. Letting go of Heero's hand, she covered her mouth with the palm of her hand, letting out a choked whimper.

She had failed him. She was his only friend, the only person he had left now that Duo was gone, and she had failed him...

She could only hope that she could find a way to make it up to him, somehow. She will see to it that he will be treated with the greatest care, tended to by the best doctors. If only he would wake up from his long coma, she promised him she will not let him down again. She will stay by his side, if only he'd let her. If only he would open those enchanting Prussian blue eyes of his... If only she could see his fiery soul burn within the deepest blue of those exotic blue eyes, then she will know that there was still hope. She would tell him how sorry she was; she will return that kiss, promising him her friendship and more, if he so wanted.

If only he'd wake up from his coma and return to being the young man she admired so, then everything would be right again. She will be his lifeline, his one and only now that the other pilots had abandoned him. Relena promised both him and herself that she'll be willing to settle for his friendship, as long as he would remain by her side. She wished with all her heart that he would wake up and turn his silent gaze at her. She would smile at him sweetly, lean down, and seal that promise with a kiss.

*             *             *

Relena entered Heero's private hospital room while talking on her mobile phone and holding a thick folder stacked with papers. Three months have passed since the night she had vowed to remain by his side. The room was a different one, located at the hospital rehabilitation ward. There was a large window opposite to the door, overlooking a green garden washed by golden sunset light. A hospital bed stood under the window, where Heero sat propped on a comfortable incline. He was dressed in a thin blue hospital gown and a blue blanket covered him up to his chest. The large splint around his left leg bulged underneath the blanket. His right arm lay limply over his abdomen and the other lay limply by his side. He has been bedridden since he woke up from his long coma and so he still relied on a urinary catheterization tube connected to a bag hanging inconspicuously at the sides of his bed; it was filled with dark yellow urine.

Leaning against two pillows, Heero lay gazing out the window in a dream-like state. As she entered the room, all she could see was the back of his shaved head. His hair had grown a little; dark stubbly hair covered areas once hidden behind a lush mane of unruly locks. His head seemed smaller somehow, making him appear almost childlike at times. Without the messy locks of soft hairs she had been so fond of, Heero looked fragile and frighteningly skeletal. Sadly, it was a sight she had gotten used to.

What shocked her still, every time she stepped into that room, was the scarring on the back of his head. The bandage around his head was removed to allow his hair to grow and his wound to breathe, exposing a large angry red scar which tore through his scalp and skull, just above his neck. The ugly hexagon shaped scar was held together by thick black staples, marking the large section of the skull that was removed and then re-implanted months ago. The area covered parts of his Occipital Lobes and Cerebellum, a fact which held very little meaning to Relena when the doctors had first explained about the procedure. Now, four months later – one month after Heero woke up from the coma – it meant _everything_.

Heero didn't turn around to face her and continued gazing out the window. Relena spoke silently into her phone, finishing the call, before she tucked it into her suit's pocket. Sighing, she walked into the room and took a seat on a chair by his bed, placing the thick document folder on her lap. She regarded him silently for a moment before gently placing a hand on his forearm. The touch of her hand gained his attention. Slowly, dazedly, he turned to face her. Their eyes met. Looking up into his eyes, she gazed into the hollowness within them.

The golden sunset light pouring from the window shone in his Prussian blue eyes, making them appear eerily translucent, in a dull, empty sense. With his head shaved and only stubbly hair covering his scalp, Heero's eyes seemed too large for his head. They were sunken deeply into his skull, surrounded by gray shadows and dark smudges under his eyes. The storms which had once raged within the depths of his eyes, that intense blue fire she was so greatly fond of, had vanished and was nothing more than a distant memory, or perhaps even a dream.

"Hello Heero," she greeted silently, struggling to smile even though she felt like sobbing. Seeing him like this still shocked her, even after the four months during which she had visited him almost daily. She missed the way he used to be; she missed the way his eyes said so much without him saying nothing at all.

"How are you feeling today?"

Heero stared at her blankly, his blue eyes gazing numbly at her lips long after they had ceased forming words. A moment passed by slowly and his eyes were still focused on her lips as though stuck there, unable to muster the cognitive power to look away.

The ramifications of the brain injury were brutal. It took him three months to regain consciousness. At first his awareness was apparent only by the fact that he began showing a response to external stimuli such a loud noise or pain; he'd wince or twitch when subjected to either one. Then, after a while, he would open his eyes for a few minutes each day. Those were very suspenseful day and she didn't leave his side for nearly a week, wishing to be the first person he'll see once he regained full consciousness. Finally, after many restless nights she had spent by his side, Heero woke up.

The first thing he did was cry. He opened his eyes, stared blankly at the room as tears flooded his eyes. They spilled down his pale cheeks slowly. Then, came the sobs. She sat by his bedside, gaping in disbelief as loud sobs wracked through him violently. He trembled and wept brokenly, bawling like a child. It was then that she knew, even before the doctors made the diagnosis, that she had lost him. The person waking up from the coma was not the Heero Yuy she used to know.

It didn't take the doctors long to determine that he had suffered extensive brain damage. He had lost his ability to coordinate fine movements; it was difficult for him to reach for objects and grab them. The doctors suspected that he had also lost his ability to walk, a fact which they would be able to determine fully once his pelvis and leg healed enough to allow physiotherapy. He had a hard time recognizing objects, whether tangible or drawn; he could not tell the difference between a cube or a ball, a fork or a spoon and so forth.

Also, his speech was heavily slurred and nearly impossible to understand. It took them over a week to realize that he wasn't even trying to speak English. Of all languages, he spoke to them in Russian, sometimes mixing in English words. Similar to the words he stuttered in English, the foreign words he spoke were also heavily slurred and difficult to distinguish. She could only wonder where he had picked up the Russian language, which he spoke almost exclusively during the first two weeks after the coma. One neurologist suggested that Heero had spoken the language as a child and therefore his mind found it easier to regress to that language when English words failed him.

As the first two weeks went by, Heero slowly returned to speaking English, which the doctors assured her was a good sign. Even so, his inarticulate speech remained incomprehensible. Even worse was the discovery that the words he spoke were often out of context, which wasn't such an encouraging sign after all. His coherency seemed to be deteriorating rather than improving with time.

"How you doing, Heero?" she asked again slowly, patiently; knowing that he could have been distracted somehow (she would have liked to think by her carefully made-up face, for she had made an extra effort to look nice today) and therefore forgot all about her question.

After a lengthy pause, Heero gave a small shrug of his shoulders as a reply. She had never known him to be a person of many words, but ever since he had regained consciousness, Heero spoke as little as possible. She had no doubt it was because he was aware that the words coming out of his mouth didn't hold the same meaning for others as they did for him.

Much like he had difficulty speaking, there were also times when he was unable to recognize the words spoken to him. On the one hand, Heero could answer Yes/No questions which were considered complex for his condition (such as was he a male or was it daytime). On the other hand, when he was asked to point at his nose Heero had shaken his head helplessly, indicating that he could not understand what was being asked of him. Similarly, Heero was able to confirm the answer to a question about a past event by nodding his head, however if he was asked about something recent, such as had he had breakfast that morning, he would shake his head and shrug in a clueless gesture.

The doctors suspected that his short-term memory was impaired as well. There were days in which she'd walk out of the room for only five minutes, just to get him something to eat or drink, and when she came back he would ask her who she was, or why she never visited him. Once, he had even asked her if she was "family" and that was the strangest question she had ever been asked. She didn't know what to say so she kept quiet and waited until he'll forget all about it, hoping that she had misinterpreted his words in the first place. Perhaps "family" meant something else entirely. He could have merely been asking her about the weather; in his condition, it was impossible to tell.

During the past two months, Relena has struggled to learn how to interpret his gestures and recognize his new speech patterns. She took mental notes of words he often repeated and applied them a new meaning so that she could better understand him at times when he was finally inclined to speak. She knew that, to Heero, "walls" now meant "water"; "broke" meant that he was hurting; "soft" meant that he was tired and "need" meant "please". She had learned the meaning of those words through many trials and tribulations. The word "need" (meaning "please") she had learned through a particularly painful experience when Heero had begged her to let him die, murmuring the word "need" pleadingly over and over as he cried against her, begging to be freed from his condition, from his painful, frustrating and unbearable reality... from his very existence. She could do nothing for him but hug his trembling form and tenderly stroke the stubby hairs at the top of his head. She promised him that everything would be alright in the end, but neither of them had actually believed it.

Today was also going to be a particularly hard visit, but more on her than on Heero. Even after all she had been through during the past four months, after all the pain she had both felt and witnessed during the past month since Heero woke up from the coma, out of all those days, it was today she had finally realized just how much she missed the person Heero used to be.

Taking a deep breath, she mustered the strength to smile kindly at him nonetheless.

"You know, it's my birthday today," she said quietly, wistfully, and forced herself to smile wider, tilting her head sideways sweetly. "I'm glad I'm able to spend it with you."

Staring at her vacantly, Heero's eyes glazed over for a moment before returning to focus on hers. Their gazes locked and they stared at each other lengthily. She hoped that he understood what she was trying to say. It was the third anniversary of their fateful meeting back in AC 195. She would have liked to think that it was an occasion worthy of mention; that it meant something to Heero too. After all, he took the time to leave her a teddy bear last year. She wondered if he would have repeated the gesture this year as well, if not for the head injury.

Looking at him mournfully, she noted how Heero's eyes shone sadly. His lips parted slightly as he gaped at her, distraught. It seemed that he had understood.

Relena had also learned how to interpret his expressions more accurately. She could tell when he was displeased with something, when something bothered him or when he was too embarrassed or too proud to admit that he could not understand what was being said to him. After losing the ability to speak properly, Heero's features became much more expressive. He would make a sulking face when he was physically uncomfortable, eyeing the source of discomfort (usually the IV various tubes running in and out of his body) with dismay. He would give her this "funny look", a somewhat skeptic expression somewhere along the lines of _'are you kidding me?'_ , when she would respond to something he had said with a wrong answer and he'd catch her in a lie, knowing that she had only pretended to understand what he said when in fact she had no clue whatsoever. At times when he would bother to try again, struggling to be understood, and she would nevertheless fail to comprehend, he'd finally give up and look at her with a helpless and resigned expression, gesturing with his head backwards and rolling his eyes as though saying _'it's alright, never mind, just forget it'_.

She never expected to be able to read him so well, but he had adopted a set of recurring expressions, designating one for each suitable situation so that he wouldn't have to speak. Right now, Heero was looking at her uneasily; his eyes shone with guilty sorrow. She was certain that he was apologizing to her for forgetting, for being unable to offer her a gift this year as well.

"It's alright," she assured him, struggling to keep smiling at him, forcing her lips to stay up so she will not be able to answer her body's need to burst into tears. "Although it was very thoughtful of you, I'd rather be here with you than to have you leave me another present without even saying hello," she lied, spoken like a true diplomat. Truth be told, she would have been much happier to spend her birthday with the person Heero used to be before the injury.

Heero nodded slowly, accepting her explanation. He turned to the window again, staring thoughtfully at the sunset. Relena turned to watch the golden orb as well, her eyes shimmering sadly.

"Have you eaten your dinner?" Since Heero couldn't eat by himself (he couldn't coordinate his hands properly), she would often be the one to feed him in the evenings. At first he had resented her care, glaring at her angrily whenever she tried to feed him, but with time he had learned to accept the fact that he had to be fed. The experience was humiliating for the both of them. Feeding him was a messy business; Relena felt mortified whenever food spilled on his chin and Heero would blush with shame whenever she wiped it away. Yet, she still insisted on being the one who fed him dinner, even when it mortified her. She wasn't sure why; she simply wanted to do something for him, despite his resentment.

"Would you like me to bring you something to eat? How about that chocolate pudding? You seemed to like it," she offered, trying to make small talk if only to break the heavy silence in the room.

When Heero offered no reply, she fought to keep calm rather than to surrender to frustration and despair. "How about cake?" she tried again; "I can bring cake. It's my birthday after all..." She could feel the warm tears sliding down her cheeks; she sniffled quietly, ashamed of herself. She should at least make the effort to keep strong; Heero would expect nothing less from her.

At the sound of her crying, Heero slowly turned to face her again, his expression blank. He stared at her meekly for a long moment, gaping at the tears streaming slowly down her cheeks. Then, much to her surprise, he reached a shaky hand up and managed to wipe the tears away from her eyes, running the pad of his thumb over her eyelashes ever so gently. She closed her eyes, fighting back more tears. She knew how hard it was for him to successfully coordinate such a delicate movement. His gesture was so wistful and familiar that she could hardly fight the sobs building up in the back of her throat. Heero had done the exact same thing three years ago, when she invited him to her fifteenth birthday party. He had torn her invitation brutally and he made her cry. He had touched her then, so unexpectedly intimate as he ran his finger under her eye, wiping away her tears. He had exposed both his deadly and kind nature to her in one single event. She fell in love with him that very instant.

Relena let out a small, pained, chuckle. "Are you going to kill me?" she asked, referring to the threat he had made back then after wiping away her tears.

Heero looked at her with a most serious expression, frowned and then shook his head 'no'.

She laughed again, a bit lighter this time. "Good," she said with a small giggle and wiped her tears away. She didn't feel like crying anymore; whether intentionally or not, Heero managed to soothe her.

She turned to him with an encouraged smile. "So – how about it? Should I get some cake?"

He didn't reply. Instead his gaze shifted downwards and she caught him staring numbly at the folder she was holding over her lap. His attention span was very short nowadays and it appeared as though he had moved on to consider something entirely different.

"Don't worry, I didn't bring my paperwork here with me today," she said, even though she assumed that he didn't really mind if she caught up with paperwork in the evenings when she came to visit him. She believed that even if she sat silently by his bedside, engrossed in various forms and reports, he still valued her presence. She would have liked to believe that her coming over almost every night comforted him and eased his loneliness. While she knew him to be a loner, she also knew that now more than ever he needed someone by his side. She was his only friend, his only human connection in this world; it was her duty to remain by his side.

With a sigh, she rested the folder against the edge of his bed and opened it, revealing various forms inside, which were mostly filled-out.

"This time the paperwork is for you," she said quietly.

He gave her a questioning look, similar to the one he gave her when he didn't understand the words she spoke, but not as blank. She knew that he understood her; he was simply asking _'why?'_

Pulling the first form out of the folder, she turned it towards him so he could see its contents. Like his speech abilities, reading and writing had also eluded Heero, but she didn't want to treat him like an invalid even when she knew he mostly likely couldn't read the form.

"Since I'm your legal guardian, I've opened a bank account for you," she explained, "But I need your signature and fingerprint next to mine."

"Bah...bahnng?" he asked in a shaky, feeble whisper. Relena's heart fluttered painfully. Since on most days Heero never dared opening his mouth to speak, hearing his voice ran chills up and down her spine. She loved his voice. She was hopelessly addicted to the low, smooth, near-whisper tone in which he spoke. It wasn't a shy voice, nor was his manner soft-spoken. Quite the contrary, Heero always spoke so assertively that no one ever dared disagreeing with him. No, Heero was far from timid; his tone was merely... quiet, as though there was something wrong or unfamiliar about speaking up.

A thin layer of dribble accumulated at the corner of Heero's mouth after he had opened it to speak. It oozed slowly down his chin. Relena reached to grab a tissue out of a box on the nightstand and wiped the saliva away gently. She noted how he diverted his eyes away shamefully, so she tried not to make a big deal out of it (it happened often) and continued with the conversation.

"Yes," she spoke gently as she used the tissue to soak the few remaining droplets of spittle at the corner of his mouth. "That motion I've encouraged the ESUN government to issue has been approved. You, as will the rest of the pilots once they are found, will be given a grant as a show of gratitude for your part in ending the war. You will receive the money in annual payments, the sum is quite reasonable." _Although it hardly makes up for what you've been through,_ she added sadly to herself.

"Consider it a pension," she continued with a fake smile, "It would allow you to live comfortably." If he had been healthy, she would have suggested that he used to money to go to school, just so he could be around people and learn about them. She would have offered that he'd travel the world, familiarizing himself with the planet and civilizations he had saved from doom two years ago. She would have offered to join him; she would have offered to be his guide as he learned to live his new and free life. She would have advised him to use the money to enjoy life, but that would have to remain a dream now. He was farther away from a normal life than he had ever been. It would take a lot of time and effort for him to be able to live his life as a normal, healthy, human being. It wasn't fair. Now that Heero was finally emotionally ready and willing to live his life as part of humanity, he was damned to be imprisoned inside his own body and damaged mind. He had made so much progress as a person, only to be left mentally handicapped and unable to realize his new hopes. It was cruel... fate was so terribly cruel!

She regretted telling him that his life would be comfortable due to the pension. It was a dreadful lie. Words were cruel too; one could never take them back. Thankfully, Heero frowned, giving her one of his "funny looks", the one which suggested that he didn't quite understand. Luckily, he was unable to understand the meaning behind her words and therefore was not offended.

She smiled softly and gestured with the form towards his hand, which rested limply over his lap. "Just sign it, Heero. You'll need to trust me on this one."

He turned his head to look at the form in her hand, staring at it thoughtfully. She allowed him to take his time to ponder over her request, knowing that it now took him long to make a judgment call or even a simple decision. Hopefully, with enough therapy, he will not remain so slow to be considered retarded, but for now, thinking and concentrating demanded a lot out of his damaged brain. She waited patiently, holding the form up in front of him.

Finally, after a few good minutes, he reached up his left hand, the one with the IV line running into it and the finger sensor clipped around his index finger, towards the form she was holding. He tried to close his fingers around its edges, but missed; his fingers closed over thin air. Releasing a quiet sigh, he tried again, only to fail once more. The finger sensor made it even more difficult for him to properly coordinate his movement. Feeling sorry for him, Relena gently guided his left arm back down and reached to touch his right arm gently.

"Here," she said softly, "Try with this hand," she offered, for she knew that his right hand was the more dominant one.

Confused, he paused for a moment to stare at his right arm, as though surprised to find out that he had two upper limbs. After a minute or so, he tried to grab the form again, flexing his fingers towards it until he finally managed to take the form from Relena's hand.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, Heero placed the paper carefully on his lap, bowing his head as he attempted to scan the writing with a tired gaze. Once again Relena wondered if he was actually reading or just running his eyes over each line without comprehending at all; she suspected as much because he seemed to "read" it a bit too fast for his current condition.

"...now?" he asked tiredly; his voice was weak and shaky as he spoke. It took her a moment to recall that "now" often meant "where".

"Right here," she said, leaning towards him a bit, a closeness which seemed to bother him, for he inched away, leaning his body in the opposite direction. Trying to ignore the hurt of his withdrawal, Relena pointed at two empty boxes in the middle and at the bottom of the form.

"I need you to sign here and add your fingerprint here, next to mine," she explained softly as she pulled a pen out of the inner pocket of her suit's blazer. She offered him the pen and Heero turned his gaze to look at it with great reservation. She knew that he was wary of failing to grab it.

"Here," she said softly and placed the pen in his hand, which was resting over the form. Gently, she closed his fist around it, enjoying the warm touch of his hand.

"Just scribble whatever. It's the fingerprint that really counts."

Heero nodded slowly, even though he might have not understood at all. His pale features contracted into a concentrated frown as he flexed his fingers around the pen, trying to teach his hand how to hold a writing tool again. After five minutes or so, he was finally able to hold the pen awkwardly in his fist. Ever so carefully, he placed the tip of the pen on the page, though quite far from the box in which he was supposed to fill out his signature. His hand trembled as he struggled to apply enough pressure to keep the tip of the pen on the page and hold it in a proper angle.

"Right here, okay?" Relena reminded him quietly and guided his hand gently. She could tell how very difficult it was for him, but she admired him for trying; it was a distinct remnant of who he used to be. He doodled something meaningless by her neat signature, unable to keep within the boundaries of the box. A tinge of guilt pinched her heart as she realized that she had asked so much of him for nothing; she could have scribbled the meaningless doodle by herself. She berated herself for not thinking about it earlier; it was just that she was so used to him being capable, that the thought hadn't even crossed her mind.

Feeling sorry for him, Relena offered Heero an appreciative smile. "And here," she said and guided his hand down to the box at the bottom of the form. He scribbled something there too and then turned to look at her again, his expression docile.

"Wha... is?" he asked in a small, insecure voice.

"It's your new bank account," she replied patiently

"Why?"

She smiled sadly, knowing it would be useless to try explaining it to him again; he won't remember it anyway. "Just trust me on this one, Heero, okay?"

He shrugged slowly and then allowed his shoulder to slump down, looking tired. His condition also manifested itself in excessive sleeping; Heero grew tired very easily. During the first two weeks after he had regained consciousness, he could not manage to stay awake for longer than half an hour before falling into an oblivious sleep, snoring softly as he slept with his mouth hanging open, drooling in heavy slumber. Now he still slept for most part of the day, but his sleep was a restless slumber in which he tossed and turned uncomfortably, opening his eyes every now and then, grimacing painfully.

When awake, Heero was also very agitated. On most days he was extremely irritable and everything seemed to frustrate or annoy him. He'd snap angrily at doctors, nurses and at Relena alike. Once, when a nurse came to wash him, he had shoved her away violently, screaming angrily at her not to touch him. Then, on other days, Heero became depressed and fell completely silent, passively refusing any care at all. On other occasions he became extremely distant and numb, which was sometimes worse than his melancholic mood, for he was completely stoic and unresponsive. There were times when he was calm and even cooperative, such as today, but they were extremely seldom. On most days Heero suffered from emotional outbursts, sometimes screaming angrily, sometimes weeping brokenly in his bed.

He turned his head to look out the window again, distracted by something beyond her understanding.

Taking the form away from him, Relena peeled off a sticker-cover at the bottom of the page, revealing a dark inky pad designed to dip the finger in, in order to produce a fingerprint. She then carefully, ever so tenderly, took his right hand in hers and guided his index finger towards the pad, pressing the boney digit against it gently. She relished in the sensation of his warmth as she guided his limp, scrawny finger to the box designated for a fingerprint and pushed it down lightly. Tears filled her eyes as she stared at his frail, trembling, hand. His hands used to be capable of moving mountains; they were the hands of a boy who had changed the world. Now, those hands were useless; broken and defeated. She fought back a sob. The fragile hand she was now holding didn't feel like it belonged to Heero at all.

When she was done, Relena looked up and was stunned to see him weeping silently. Tears streaked his pale cheeks, streaming freely down his haggard face.

"Heero," she whispered sadly, looking at him in anguish. Could it be that they were just thinking the same thing?

"Why are you crying?" she asked sorrowfully. The words left a bitter aftertaste on her lips; they felt blasphemous. She never imagined that she would so often put his name in the same sentence as the verb "crying".

Slowly, he reached his hand up to wipe away the tears, smearing the dark fingerprint ink across his cheeks, much like a child. He then lowered his hand again and stared at the wet ink staining his palm. Her heart went out for him and she leaned forward, placing her hand over his dirty palm. She lowered her head so she would be able to gaze into his eyes while his head remained bowed.

"Heero?" she called his name softly, her blue eyes pleading him to confide in her. "What's wrong?"

She saw his eyes shift towards the form still lying in his lap, and then back down again. Frowning, she turned to look at the form as well, but couldn't fathom what bothered him about it so much that he was crying. Due to his condition he was quite emotional and it broke her heart to see him weep like a child over every little thing. She wished to pull him into her embrace, but past experience had taught her that he did not appreciate such proximity. She waited for him to calm down on his own. Again she noted how Heero's eyes shifted towards the form he had signed and marked with his fingerprint.

"Is it because of the form?" she asked carefully, picking the sheet of paper from his lap.

Sniffling, Heero looked away, turning back to face the window where the sun had set and the Brussels skies had turned a deep shade of blue. Relena studied the form thoughtfully, her eyes focusing on the doodles Heero had scribbled down next to her refined signatures.

"Is it about your signature?"

"...dun wanna..." he muffled miserably.

"The bank account?" she asked to clarify, confused.

After a long pause, Heero shook his head. He turned to face her; his Prussian blue eyes were still shimmering with unshed tears.

"Dhad..." he whispered hoarsely, lifting a shaky hand to point at his signature at the bottom of the page.

She wondered if he was referring to his inability to even write down his own name, and therefore his general condition, but something deep inside told her that he meant something else entirely. She was so tuned in to his every gesture, to every expression running across his gaunt features and to every tremor or emotion she heard in his voice, that she had learned to understand more than what his meager, slurred and mostly unintelligible words were capable of expressing. Frowning, she tried to think of what could bother him about the scribble he had made to represent his name.

"Is it your name?" she ventured a guess, looking at him carefully to study his reaction.

He nodded slowly.

"You don't want your name?" she deduced, frowning at her own strange question.

Again he nodded, bowing his head and staring down at his lap. "Get... brand... need..." he mumbled, closing his eyes sadly, sniffling quietly. She reached for another tissue to wipe his runny nose clean. She then pulled back respectfully and regarded him silently for a moment. She knew that he was trying to ask something of her, for he had said "need". The word "get" _could_ mean "give", for he often mixed verbs in such manner. The word "brand", however, was brand new in her ever-growing _"New Heero Lexicon"_ , she could not—

"Give you a new name?" she exclaimed, her eyes wide. "Are you asking me for a new name?"

He nodded his head ever so slightly while keeping it bowed.

"But why?" she asked desperately, trying her best to understand.

"I..." he let out but his voice trailed off tiredly. Taking a deep breath, he finally raised his head to look at her. His blue eyes were filled with anguished tears. She could hardly bear to look at him like this; it hurt too much.

"To... make..." he tried to speak again, frowning in concentration, struggling to piece scattered words into a comprehendible sentence.

"To make what?" she encouraged him to continue but he gave her an irate glare, indicating that she understood him wrong.

"Okay, you didn't mean _'make'_ ," she sighed wearily, "What are you trying to say? Take your time."

Heero seemed doubtful and irate; however, as she continued gazing at him patiently, he must have calmed down enough to try again.

"I..." he began slowly, choosing his words very carefully; "Nut at... book... like... not like... dhad wid E..."

She tried not to frown; she struggled not to let it show that she was clueless about what he was trying to tell her.

"Canuhd bee... dhad..." he desperately tried to make her understand; "Nut wid E..."

"E?" she echoed, confused. "The letter 'E'?"

He nodded.

"Not with the letter 'E'?" she asked again, frowning in thought. "You don't want your name spelled with the letter 'E'?

Again he nodded, bowing his head sadly. "Like... looks."

"Looks?" she wondered out loud.

"B— _Boo_ —ks!" Heero grunted in frustration.

"Books?" She echoed and he nodded, upset.

Relena struggled to comprehend what meaning that word held for Heero; she feared that she was misunderstanding him again and felt that she first had to confirm if that was the case.

"Do you mean story books? Actual books? The ones you read from?" She gestured the meaning, pretending to be opening a book.

Heero nodded. "Like... magic... yeah," he murmured as he stared down at his hands. The look in his eyes clearly suggested how troubled he was by being unable to get his point across. "Magic looks like... like waiting for night wid E."

"Magic?" she echoed in confusion. "Magic books? Do you mean fairytale books?" she dared to guess and he nodded to confirm. "You mean books one reads to children, right? With _knights_... is that it?"

Again he nodded and Relena thought she felt her heart crack slightly. He didn't want to be her "knight in shining armor" anymore. Heero didn't want his name to be spelled with the letter 'E' because he didn't want it to be like a knight in a fairytale... He didn't want to be a hero anymore. He couldn't be one anymore. Relena sighed, sinking back into the chair, feeling miserable.

"But you are a hero, to so many..." she cried sadly.

"Nuh—no..." Heero argued weakly, his eyes begging her to understand, and she did. She knew that he didn't feel like a hero anymore, not that he ever had. He simply knew that he was no longer capable of performing his duty; he was unable to carry the hopes of others on his shoulders as he had before. It was a burden he had carried for long enough.

"You are to me..." she whispered sadly, staring sadly at the floor. She wanted him to be her knight; she wanted nothing more than to be his princess. Now the fairytale was over.

Heero let out a frustrated sigh, shaking his head in a gesture he used to tell her to _'forget it, never mind'_. He turned his head back towards the window, which now overlooked the dark garden and the rest of the hospital compound, lights shining in the windows of every building. The light in his room shone brightly as well, reflecting back from the window to create a mirror-like effect. Heero watched his reflection silently, a wretched expression on his face. He was upset.

Relena watched his reflection as well, sadly noting how ghostly he looked. With his features pale, his head shaved and his eyes appearing too large for his head, Heero seemed like a mere shadow of his old self. It saddened her greatly, so she looked away, fighting back the tears.

Heero understood more than the doctors gave him credit for. He knew that he would never be the same again. Apparently, he had accepted it long before she had. The revelation made her feel even sadder, more hopeless than ever before. She has always wanted him to stop fighting, but not like this. She never thought she would see the day Heero would simply give up without a fight.

*             *             *

In the late hours of one gloomy Friday afternoon, Relena walked into Heero's hospital room, her face pale and her eyes full of sorrow. Slowly, she closed the door behind her and took a deep breath before turning to face the room again. The doctors informed her that Heero was having a "bad day". On such days he was unreachable, usually caught in a delusion which fooled him into mistaking the past for the present. It was hard to get through to him on such days; he could never tell where or when he was, which usually made him paranoid and extremely distrustful. There were also times when his hallucinations would make him scream, horrified and aching to his soul. Sometimes he would even cry, curling into a small ball, whimpering and afraid. Not once had he hallucinated about something that put his mind at ease. She would have loved nothing more than to have him re-experience something joyful, perhaps a content childhood moment, but apparently he had none.

Thus, Relena watched helplessly as Heero relived memories of his harsh life. She wasn't naïve; she knew that he had been forged by iron fists to become the person she had met three years ago: a cold hearted, calculated and a most obedient soldier. She had met Dr. J, the man responsible for Heero's training and most likely his upbringing. J left an unmistakable impression on her; the old man was a monster.

It hurt her to admit that it was getting harder and harder to come see Heero, especially on his "bad days". She just couldn't take it anymore; she couldn't bear seeing him in such a wretched state. As much as it saddened her, she had to come to terms with the fact that Heero was no longer the person she had admired and followed blindly across the Earth and Space. Her hero, her knight in a shining armor, was now a broken young man; a far cry from the idol she had fallen for three years ago.

A sense of forbidding finality hung heavily in the air as she walked towards the bed by the window, where Heero lay on his back, gazing up at the ceiling.

She took a seat by his bed, looking at him silently. Heero gazed upwards, ignoring her. His blue eyes were glazed over, numb as though dead. His gaze shifted slowly to the left, then to the right, like he was following an invisible pendulum. Relena wondered if Heero was even aware that she had entered the room. She sat unmoving by his side, staring out the window as she waited for him to notice her presence. She knew better than to try to snap him out of his trance. She didn't wish to deal with the consequences of such an act anymore; she had grown tired of seeing the horrified look in his eyes whenever she tried to touch him, however gently.

Her eyes filled with tears and she fought to remain strong. It was at times like this she recalled how, back on Libra, Heero admitted that he considered her to be much stronger than he was. She had complimented his courage, his ability to inspire so many to realize their hopes, and in response Heero told her to take a good look at herself before commenting about him; he told her that he was nothing compared to her. Nowadays, it has become a daily struggle not to fail him and remain as strong as he believed her to be, if only for his sake.

The Earth and the Colonies also demanded that she remained strong. As part of her political career it was expected of her to keep going even at times of hardship. The fragile peace that was regained after the Mariemaia Uprising constantly demanded her tender care. Heero fought hard to achieve that peace and so she fought to maintain it. She owed him that much for his sacrifice; no one else seemed to appreciate it. However, her work was difficult and extremely demanding. There were too many gapes for her to bridge between different parties. No one was ever pleased with the status quo and they all turned to her as a symbol of pacifism, expecting a solution for world peace. Now more than ever she knew what Heero must have felt like when the weight of the world rested on his shoulders, demanding that he'd act his part as a compulsory hero. It was no wonder he resented the codename he had been given; Gundam pilot Heero Yuy was an impossible image to live up to.

Heero had given the world all that he had in him and more; and now, when he had nothing left to give, he was the one in need for kindness. Relena knew that there was no one to offer him the strength he needed; no one but her, that is. He was her burden to bear. He had sacrificed everything for the sake of her dream, thus obligating her to see to his care. He didn't do it on purpose, of course, but she felt bound to him nonetheless.

Relena shifted her gaze down to look at his face. His features were always so haggard and ashen; depleted and bleak. Looking at him, she sadly realized just how much she missed the healthy shine of his skin and the sight of his handsome face. She missed his raw and coarse beauty; that unrefined brilliance of his soul radiating from his physical being. Sadly, he was not much to look at now that that radiance was gone. Oh, how she missed his wild, untamable locks of lush chocolate-brown hair! He seemed so eerie without them, without the scruffy dark mane which had always given him the looks of a child, betraying the presence of his fiery essence beneath the cold and composed exterior of a soldier.

Now, with only a thin layer of stubbly dark hair covering his pale scalp, Heero no longer seemed like the striking boy she had fallen for head-over-heels. His features were too pale, his lips were constantly chapped, his nose was always red from sniffling and crying, his eyes were bloodshot and puffy; they seemed awfully large without the shelter of his bangs and his thick eyebrows seemed overly bushy. She found herself wondering if he was ever truly handsome at all. Perhaps she had been blinded by his powerful aura, enchanted by the halo of his heroic strength, resolve and valor, by the intense fire burning in his soul, that she hadn't even noticed that he wasn't even that remarkable. As a teenage soldier, his passion and strength of will had captivated her; now, when she looked at him in this pitiable state, she no longer felt that attraction. Did that make her a terrible person? Perhaps it simply meant that she was only human – a vain, arrogant and disgraceful human being; a sorry excuse for a friend, a terrible person to have by your side a time of need.

Relena knew that it shouldn't matter that Heero had lost the once alluring shine in his Prussian blue eyes. It shouldn't matter that that spark which dwelled deep within the bluest part of his eyes had been vanquished. Was their bond so weak and superficial that all it took to make her lose interest was the disappearance of that light, of his striking good looks? True, she mourned for their loss, but she should know better than to give up on him simply because the look in his eyes had changed. Then again, it was that exact look that attracted her to him in the first place!

She recalled how, almost two years ago, she confessed to Heero how much she admired that look in his eyes. They sat together on a bench at the school she had administered at the Sanc kingdom. It had been a beautiful, peaceful, sunny day. Heero was reading in the garden and she asked to join him. For a few precious minutes they sat together like two ordinary teens, conversing. She told him that she admired him for being able to keep the intense fire in his eyes even after all the hardship the war had put him through. He had turned to her, clearly taken aback by her confession. His expression then softened, as did the look in his eyes. Just as he was about to say something in reply to her comment, they were interrupted. Relena often wondered what Heero was about to say to her that day. She preferred to believe that it was at that moment that Heero finally realized how much she cared for him, how much she struggled to understand him and befriend him. Perhaps he had realized that he had finally found a true friend in the world and that's why his gaze had softened so beautifully...

It was too late to ask him about it though; she would never know for certain what he was about to say to her that day in the garden; neither will she ever see that fire burn in his eyes again; nor would she see them soften like that as they encountered sympathy for the first time. Heero no longer seemed to appreciate sympathy; quite the contrary, he seemed to resent it. Even worse, she could barely bring herself to offer it anymore. She wasn't cut out for this kind of hardship; she didn't know how to deal with such pain and agony. Before the head injury, Heero was capable of shielding her from his anguish. While her logical mind has always been aware of his pain lurking just beneath the surface of his cool composure, she never had to witness it and so her heart felt free to fall for the illusion Heero had created for her.

Heaving a mournful sigh, Relena focused her gaze on him again, struggling to find something beyond the hollowness she saw in his eyes. She found none; his gaze was like a bottomless pit, a dark-blue void. Will she ever be able to cope with him now that he could no longer keep up his pretense for her? Will she ever be capable of discarding the childish notion of being in love with a _hero_ and learn to deal with real-life consequences of heroic acts? It seemed so easy for couples in the movies: a hero and a damsel in distress; a man willing and able to move mountains in order to save the day, to do it all for the woman he loved; a hero who would always come out of every ordeal in one piece and ride off into the sunset with his beautiful damsel...

Her perception were so distorted by images in the media that she had no idea what real life was like. Real life, real love, demanded much sacrifice and compromise. It required much perseverance, compassion, credence and courage of a kind she was never required to have before. She's been valiant (perhaps foolish and naïve) enough to throw herself into the heart of danger during wartime, but she was not so brave that she could face a man in need, a loved one in pain. She wasn't even sure Heero was a _"loved one"_ in the first place. He was never really hers to love; the only reason she had him now was because no one else was willing to care for him, to take responsibility for him.

Heero's injury was a major wake-up call. Relena now knew that at seventeen years of age, she was yet incapable of offering him _real_ love. She was still too selfish, too childish, too desperate to hold onto the sweet delusions the media had always promised her. She wanted him to be an idol, a symbol, a person who embodied all of her hopes and dreams. She didn't wish him to be this ethereal shadow of a man she had only loved once upon a dream.

"It's done," she said with a heavy heart, looking at him intently, hoping he might snap out of his trance. He hardly ever did; not on days like this, not while he was recuperating from reliving his darkest nightmares. Still, she continued speaking; hoping that at least a part of him was listening to the words she found almost too difficult to speak.

"I took care of all the bureaucracy and paperwork," Relena informed him, "You are now officially someone else." She had appointed herself his legal guardian. Sadly, she realized that this is what she was going to be to him from now on – not a friend, not a caregiver, not even a true guardian. She will become a formality; that is all. She'll take care of the paperwork and finances. She will ensure that he is taken care of, guarding his human rights from afar. It was the best she could offer him. He couldn't possibly expect more of her, can he?

She recalled his kiss; that startling – _frightening_ – kiss; his plea of her, his request for friendship, for support and care. She was all he had and he knew it. In his own strange way, he had desperately asked her not to abandon him as well. He _did_ expect her to be a friend to him. As inexperienced in the ways of the world as he was, Heero knew that he could not survive on his own. He needed her to be his guide, his support, his... guardian; a true guardian, not just a formal one. She could no longer be the damsel in distress, much like he could no longer be the hero.

She regretted only changing the spelling of his name when she had applied him for a new ESUN citizenship. She picked his new last name randomly, but insisted on keeping his first name the same, only spelled differently. She simply could not accept that he will never be the same again, but naming him 'Hiro' still tied him to his painful past and to the role he could no longer play. She should have given him a new name altogether.

"Would you like to know your new name?" she asked with a sigh, looking at him grimly. "I hope you will approve."

Heero continued staring at the ceiling. She was certain that he wasn't even hearing her, caught in one of his delusions, but then, after some time passed, he slowly nodded, ever so slightly. He finally turned to look at her; gazing at her silently, his eyes shimmering dimly with the aftermath of tears. His pale features were stony, expressionless. His eyes were red and puffy from crying; he would usually fall this stone-silent after a harsh episode of hallucinations assaulted him.

Relena forced a small smile, though hardly pleased or relieved that he had finally turned to face her. The sweet smile was merely a reflex, a part of her diplomatic mask.

"It's Nakasone," she said slowly, "Hiro Nakasone, spelled with an 'I', not an 'E', like you requested," she reminded him.

Heero continued gazing at her silently. She could not tell from his expression whether he was pleased with her choice or not. She hoped he wasn't upset that she hadn't changed his first name completely. Would he understand if she explained that she didn't have the right to change who he was?

"I opened the bank account under your new name," she changed the subject; "The annuity payments will be transferred there every January for the next ten years. The payments are quite generous," she forced herself to continue speaking, if only to aid her fight back the sobs forming in her throat.

Heero turned to fix his gaze on the ceiling again. He stared at it numbly and after a long moment, he nodded slowly in acknowledgement, catching her by surprise for she was certain that he was unaware of her words.

"The other pilots will receive the same payments," she informed him, using the opportunity to raise an issue which she knew bothered him greatly, often to the point of furious outbursts. It was safer to raise the issue while he was calm and numb.

"Preventer finally found their location. I can use their bank account data to locate them, if you'd like," she offered in a hopeful tone, perhaps too hopeful, giving away her wish to find a replacement for herself.

This time there was no pause; he shook his head firmly.

Relena sighed. "Chances are that they still don't know what happened."

He shrugged against the mattress, indicating that he didn't care. Relena let another frustrated sigh.

"I don't understand why you wish to keep this from them."

Finally, he shifted his eyes towards her, glaring angrily; she had pushed him too far. She knew that it wasn't shame stopping him from contacting the other pilots; it was anger. The four of them vanished without a trace the moment the battle was over and were never heard from again. There was nothing she could say to justify that. She could only suggest that he'd try to contact them to see if there was some sort of misunderstanding, but he would hear nothing of it. Perhaps he was too humiliated to even try.

"There's one other matter," she added, looking grim. She waited for him to turn to look at her again, but he didn't. His bleak gaze was fixed on the ceiling again.

"They are going to transfer you to a different hospital," she said slowly, fearing his reaction, but he gave none.

She sighed sadly. "Heero... I'm afraid I won't be able to be so near anymore... I won't be able to come as often."

The statement was enough to make him look at her again. He didn't seem startled, upset or even interested in her words. He simply turned his head to face her and waited for her to continue.

"They're going to move you to the US," she explained gloomily. "It's all about Preventer budget considerations..." she bowed her head sadly, straightening the folds of her suit over her thighs.

"Since they've taken responsibility for your medical care, and since we're talking about something so long-term..." she dared to glance at him, to make sure that she wasn't saying anything too discouraging by reminding him of the long rehabilitation ahead of him, but Heero didn't seem fazed by it. Perhaps he didn't truly understand what she was saying, or what hardship lay ahead of him.

Casting her gaze down sadly, Relena continued speaking. "There's a hospital in Philadelphia willing to take you in for the long run. Preventer has arranged everything. There's nothing I can do..."

Slowly, she lifted her gaze up to look at him. Heero was staring at her, his eyes shining thoughtfully, still red and puffy from the episode he had experienced prior to her arrival. She was sick and tired of seeing him like this. She knew that it wasn't his fault; she knew that due to the brain injury it was hard for him to control his emotions, but still... it broke her heart to see the evidence of his sorrow, to see tears she never thought him capable of shedding. The sight of his anguish burdened her soul greatly. She couldn't go on like this anymore; she was much too young to wallow in his misery for the rest of her life.

"I understand that the Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania is among the nation's leaders for rehabilitation." She knew that the information she was giving him wouldn't serve to comfort neither him nor her, but she had to keep talking or else she'd have to contemplate his suffering. Even more so, she needed to justify her actions, her betrayal and abandonment. She was only seventeen... Heero couldn't possibly expect her to dedicate the rest of her life to his long – if ever full – recovery. She knew that he'll understand, she knew that he will forgive her, but that only made her feel guiltier. She was only doing it to him because she knew he'll let her get away with it. She was such a terrible person... she hated herself so much right now, but that wasn't enough to stop her. She had to cut him loose, she had to! She couldn't be there for him the way he needed her to, so it was better to leave now, before he comes to rely on her even more.

"The Department of Physical Medicine and Rehabilitation was actually the first established department of its kind in the US," she continued, "It is very highly regarded. I have high hopes for its doctors. I'm sure you will be able to recover fully with their aid."

Heero remained silent, simply watching her with a meek expression. She feared his reaction and waited anxiously for his response. After considering her lengthily, Heero finally nodded his head, sighing as he looked away, indicating that he understood; that she can _'drop it'_ , he wasn't interested.

"I'll come visit you whenever I can," Relena hurried to promise. "Whenever I'm called to DC, I'll come straight over."

Heero shrugged, telling her that it didn't really matter to him one way or the other. Perhaps they both knew that it was a lie; her work will eventually drive her away from him and they both knew it.

"I wish things were different, Heero," she admitted miserably; tears flooded her eyes. "I'm so sorry for everything," she cried mournfully, looking at the scarred back of his head as he remained facing the window. The sight of the scar made her cry harder, letting out broken sobs. "I am so very, very sorry..."

In the end, despite all of her promises to both herself and him, she had failed him. Just like the rest, she was going to abandon him. In time perhaps she will even carry on with her life with him remaining as nothing but a distant and exotic memory.

Heero slowly turned to face her, gazing at her with the most compassionate look she had ever seen shine in his Prussian blue eyes... just like that time on Libra. His eyes gleamed under the light pouring in from the window, much like they had shimmered before he had left for the final battle on Libra. Indeed, he was about to wage battle again, she mused sadly; it will be a battle of a different kind, a much more dire struggle. She felt even guiltier; she had to force herself to look into his suddenly soulful blue eyes.

"...'s... 'kay..." he murmured softly and offered her a helpless, broken, little smile. "You forget... and I... I... forgive..." he continued sadly as tears flooded his eyes. She gaped at him, astonished by his sudden coherency.

"I haffta forgive you... I haffta... It hurts... but I... I'll just forget... It's not... not your... fault..." he wept sorrowfully; "I'm sorry... You can... forget me too... Duo..."

"Duo?" Relena echoed in surprise and her head jerked up to look at him with confusion. She now noted the delirious fog clouding his eyes and she knew that he was hallucinating again. Ironically, it was the only time he sounded so coherent, appearing so lucid when in fact he was unaware of the present at all.

"Oh, Heero!" she cried sorrowfully, unable to hold back any longer. She covered her face shamefully in the palms of her hands, letting out silent whimpers as she cried.

Was Heero still waiting for Duo to come back for him? Why was he offering forgiveness to a person who wasn't even there? Was he mistaking her abandonment for Duo's? They were one of the same, weren't they? She was leaving him behind, just like Duo had...

"I'm so sorry for this, Heero... I'm so sorry..." she sobbed brokenly as her heart crumbled under the realization that she had just become the next person to fail him.

*             *             *

  **To be continued in Chapter 10: Faith:**

"D—Du— he— he! Don't! Don't!" he cried out desperately; "Duo – don't!"

"Shush... Hiro... shush... he's not here," she whispered gently, as though speaking to a child. "Duo isn't here..."

oOo

"I won't leave," she whispered softly, repeating her promise to him once again.

oOo

"I know you'll get through this," she assured him, hoping her words didn't fall on deaf ears. "And in the meanwhile," she smiled softly as she took his hand in hers, "You can have faith in me."

oOo


	12. Chapter 10: Faith

**One Week 12/20**

**Chapter 10: Faith**

**_Seven Months Later:_ **

Horrified screams echoed within the dim hallways of Pennsylvania Hospital. It was late at night, Christmas Eve, and only a few nurses were on duty. The Physical Medicine and Rehabilitation Ward remained mostly empty that night, for many patients had gone home, despite their condition, to spend the holiday with their families. Only those who were completely bedridden or those who were in need of close care remained in the ward. At such a late hour, all were asleep... all but one. A single patient's petrified shrieks tore through the nightly silence. His cries vibrated down the halls of the rehabilitation ward with sounds of terror and anguish.

The elevator chimed and a young woman stepped out in a hurry. She was a dark-skinned brunette, dressed in snug blue-jeans and a fashionable red sweater stretching over her voluptuous curves. Lush waves of curly dark-brown hair cascaded down to her middle-back, bouncing up and down as she marched hurriedly down the hallway. A grim and strict expression hardened her beautifully made-up face. She was dressed and groomed for a festive event, which she had most likely left in a rush. Her fashionable stiletto heel boots tapped loudly against the ceramic floor as she walked; the echoing sound blended with the cries emitting from the room at the end of the corridor. The cries grew more desperate and the young woman opened in a run. She quickly entered the room from which they came.

"Marissa!" a nurse called out with relief. The middle-aged woman was standing by the single hospital bed occupying the dimly lit room, struggling to restrain a patient who fought against her, screaming and weeping in despair. The young man was thrashing in his hospital bed, sheets and blankets tangled around him as he fought to break free. He whimpered and wailed distraughtly, flinging his skinny arms up in the air hysterically, as though trying to fight-off an invisible assailant. His long, untrimmed bangs clung to his face, soaked with tears and sweat. His wild Prussian blue eyes shifted around the room frantically, fearfully. His screams were loud, desperate and tortured; they came out in a shrieking, high-pitched tone, much like a wounded animal.

"Thank God you're finally here!" the nurse gasped as she fought to hold the young patient down. "I don't know what happened!" the middle-aged nurse exclaimed as she clutched her hands around his brittle wrists and struggled to contain his violent thrashing; he was still waving his arms wildly, sobbing brokenly.

"He just started screaming allova sudden! One minute I was wishing him goodnight and a merry Christmas and the next thing I know he's like this! I'm sorry I called you away from Midnight Mass, but I just didn't know what else to do!"

Standing at the doorway, the young Hispanic woman wasted no more time. She hurried towards the bed and took the patient's hands in hers, releasing him from the nurse's hold.

"It's alright, Liz," she said softly, speaking with a heavy Spanish accent. "I have him."

The older woman nodded eagerly, thankful for being relieved from the task of tending to the difficult patient. She stepped back and allowed the younger woman to take charge. She watched silently as Marissa leaned over the patient, who was still thrashing violently, weeping. Holding his wrists in both her hands, she gently guided his arms down. Gradually, the young man's screams died out to quiet, painful, sobs. He wept silently, looking up at the young woman with a pair of tearful Prussian blue eyes.

"D—Du— he— he!" the young patient hiccupped, crying and shaking his head in denial. "Don't!" he sobbed and clutched his head, his fists grabbing a handful of wild brown hair. His whole body shuddered. He closed his eyes tightly, pulling at his hair and shaking his head dreadfully. "Don't!" he begged desperately; "Duo – don't!"

The young Latin woman's eyes shone sadly. Leaning towards him (but not too close so she wouldn't startle him) Marissa stroked his hair tenderly, whispering soft words to him: "Shush... Hiro... shush... he's not here," she whispered gently, as though speaking to a child. "Duo isn't here..."

The nurse watched in awe as the young man calmed and his weeping gradually ceased. Slowly, he let go of his hair and let his arms down. Falling silent, he stared up at the woman leaning over him, his tearful Prussian blue eyes shining sorrowfully.

"Shush... it's okay," Marissa soothed, petting his hair caringly. "It's okay, Hiro. He's not here. It's just us here. It's just me and Nurse Shane."

The young man sniffled loudly. His tear-bleary eyes scanned the room timidly. A moment passed in which none of the room's occupants dared say a word or even move. The older woman stood by the door, anxiously waiting to see whether the patient will burst into tears and screams once again. Marissa remained close to him, standing by his bed, caressing his hair gently.

After some time, Hiro turned to her, his eyes shining with a sheepish apology. She smiled kindly at him, running her long fingers through his thick brown hair, brushing against a lumpy scar at the back of his head.

"It's okay," she whispered sympathetically and leaned further down to pull him into a close hug. "I know you're sorry," she spoke softly to him as she guided his head to rest against her bountiful chest, like a mother embracing her child. "You shouldn't be."

He trembled as he leaned into her warm embrace, resting his head on her shoulder. She felt him slump against her in exhaustion and release a sigh into the hollow of her neck. His feathery breath caressed her skin and she felt compelled to draw his frail body closer.

"Ri—Rissa..." he wept in a trembling voice and closed his eyes tightly, as though shutting out a terrible vision. Fat tears overflowed, squeezing from his clenched eyes. They soaked Marissa's red sweater as he leaned closer to her, wrapping his skinny arms around her full and curvy waist. Sensing the intimacy of the moment, Nurse Shane stepped away respectfully, leaving the room.

"I shouldn't have left you alone... not tonight," Marissa apologized and held him even tighter. "I shouldn't have gone home... I'm sorry, Hiro," she turned her head and gave him a soft kiss on his forehead. His skin was warm and moist with fever. She felt tears well in the back of her eyes and a lump was forming in the back of her throat. She ran her fingers softly through his hair, smiling in apology.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here when this happened," she whispered and pulled away some, just enough so she could look into his eyes. He leaned back as well and gazed at her silently with a pair of anguished and tearful blue eyes.

"I..." he let out and his voice faded into silence. He cast his gaze down, ashamed. He stared at the blanket he had thrown to the floor in a fit of fear and anger. "This... I..." he mumbled, sniffling. "I... I... j-ju-jmped..."

Marissa nodded in understanding. She took a seat by his side on the bed and reached for his hand. She held it gently in hers and gave it a light squeeze.

"It's okay," she assured him once more, "I know."

"Sh—she... that... her... she bolt... ouch... scared," he murmured, keeping his head bowed shamefully.

Marissa smiled reassuringly. "Nurse Shane is new here, that's all. She doesn't know."

He sighed, nodding his head, accepting her comforting explanation. Marissa smiled sadly and gave his palm another squeeze. "Go back to sleep," she whispered soothingly, "I'll be here."

He lay back down carefully, mindful of his left leg which lay limply and lifelessly on the bed; he was still unable to move it. Marissa picked the blanket up from the floor. She covered him carefully, making sure he is comfortable and warm. She took a seat on a chair by his bed, holding his hand.

"I'll stay here tonight, so just go back to sleep. He won't bother you again."

"...'smas..." Hiro murmured sleepily; his tone suggested that he was trying to give her an explanation.

"Christmas..." she repeated with a knowing sigh and then smiled sadly, helplessly; "Yes, I know." She squeezing his frail hand tightly. "I should have stayed here with you, especially tonight. I'm so sorry, Hiro."

"N—nnuh..." he slurred heavily, tired; "N—no... don't... don't go..." he moaned as slumber engulfed him.

"I'm not going anywhere, you're just falling asleep," she explained and reached a hand up to brush a few strands of hair out of his weary eyes, soothing him back to sleep. "Shush... just sleep. I'm here. I'm right here."

Nodding thankfully, he closed his eyes, allowing sleep to claim him. Then, after only a short moment, he opened his eyes again, to make sure she was still there. She smiled at him softly.

"I'm still here," she assured him, giving his hand another squeeze. "I won't leave you."

He didn't look reassured. He gazed up at her wretchedly, tired, but refusing to close his bloodshot eyes. Marissa looked deeply into his eyes, trying to reassure him that she will remain by his side, guarding his sleep from the demons that tormented him day and night. She studied his pale, gaunt face and her heart twitched at his forlorn sight. Slowly, her body began to move. Leaning down slowly towards him, she stopped an inch from his face. His Prussian blue eyes were all she could see. He gazed into her eyes nervously, unsure. There were things he would have probably said if he was able to. He swallowed, apprehensive of her closeness. She watched his Adam's apple move up and down his overly slim throat; he was nervous, as he often was when someone came so near. His eyes darted sideways, glancing uneasily at the empty room, and then back at her. They were still moist with tears, shimmering in the dim night-light over his bed.

Leaning closely to his face, she smiled at him.

"I won't leave," she whispered softly, repeating her promise to him once again. Things had to be said clearly and plainly to him, often more than a couple of times before they stuck.

Closing her eyes, Marissa leaned down to close the small gap between them. Ever so gently, she pressed her lips softly against his; they were chapped and salty with tears. She felt him tense, his lips going rigid, dazed by her kiss. She had to admit that she too was surprised by her own actions. She didn't want to cause him anymore anxiety, so she pulled away, smiling down at him tenderly. He watched her with wide, stunned blue eyes as she pulled back, leaning into her chair.

"It's a promise," she whispered, her lips still tingling with his feverish warmth.

He nodded numbly, his wide eyes watching her closely. There was much awareness in them now; he was no longer caught in the sticky webs of his nightmare, using her as an anchor to reality, to the here and now.

"Go back to sleep," she spoke tenderly and tucked the blanket around him snugly. His eyes followed her every movement until he finally relaxed against the bed.

That night, Hiro fell asleep with Marissa's promise still tingling on his lips. Marissa remained seated by his bedside, holding his hand, guarding his sleep as light broke at the dawn of a snowy Christmas Day, AC 197.

*             *             *

Pleasant springtime sunshine washed over the red/white ancient Victorian buildings of Pennsylvania Hospital. The large eighteenth century structures were surrounded by lush green grass areas, white gravel paths and colorful flower beds. Artistically crafted white stone benches were scattered along the gravel trails surrounding the garden. Summertime was right around the corner and soft warm sunshine caressed the lush green treetops, engulfing the garden in a warm honey-like coat. The air was fresh and crisp, carrying the scent of blooming flowers. Insects hummed as they circled the lush colorful flowerbeds. Birds chirped merrily as they flew from tree to tree. A new sound invaded the serene atmosphere, the sound of footsteps against the white gravel path.

A woman was walking across the garden; her simple white canvas shoes grinded the gravel as she walked, disturbing the pleasant silence. Sheer white pantyhose hugged her well-toned legs tightly, disappearing under the cover of a professional white boxer skirt – a nurse's uniform. The white uniforms hugged her healthy round figure, emphasizing her sensational curves.

The dark-skinned nurse was carrying two small plastic containers in her tanned hands. Her lush hair was gathered into a thick ponytail resting over one shoulder and her chest in a heap of dark-brown curls. She made her way towards one of the white stone benches along the trail. A young patient was sitting on a wheelchair by the bench and when she spotted him, her lips lifted with a graceful smile.

The young man was dressed in a blue plaid robe over his green hospital pajamas and a pair of green hospital slippers. His head was bowed slightly, his gaze directed at a colorful children's book resting on his lap. His messy hair and lengthy wild bangs were tousled gently by a warm breeze, obscuring his vision. He reached a hand up to brush them aside and rested it back down over the open book. His index finger traced the large printed words slowly and carefully as he read. The scrawny digit paused under a long word every now and then before continuing tracing the rest of the sentence. His lips formed the words he was reading, whispered them quietly.

"Hola Hiro," she greeted softly and took a seat on the bench, sitting on the edge closest to Hiro. Her dark-brown eyes shone affectionately as she gazed upon him. A frown creased his gaunt features as he read. A look of utter concentration gleamed in his Prussian blue eyes. His thin lips formed the words carefully, sometimes whispering them, sometimes mouthing them soundlessly.

A summer breeze blew by, caressing them both with a gush of pleasant warmth, tousling her luxurious dark curls and his unruly hair. She watched him as he pushed a few stands of hairs out of his eyes casually, keeping his head bowed as he continued reading, mumbling the words quietly. He was training his tongue, exercising his pronunciation, as part of the speech therapy he had been undergoing for the past year, ever since he had been transferred to the hospital's rehabilitation ward last spring.

"I brought you lunch," she informed him as she used one of the two plastic containers she was holding to nudge his arm gently to gain his attention. Hiro had a tendency to lose himself while absorbed in an activity; he would concentrate hard on a task and thus forget that the world continued to exist around him. That was why, when he finally raised his head to look at her, his Prussian blue eyes widened with revelation.

"M—Marissa," he breathed her name out in surprise. Marissa smiled. He was quite endearing, especially when he was perplexed. He was eight years younger than her, only eighteen, and, in many ways, he was still a boy. He had been committed to the rehabilitation ward a few months after the battle over the ESUN capital. When he first arrived at the ward, he was still bedridden and completely dependent on other's care. She had fed him, bathed him, clothed him and groomed him daily. Back then, Hiro used to be completely stoic, unresponsive to either her or the doctors. He simply lay in bed, staring numbly out the window, passively allowing her to do her job. Thankfully, much has changed since then.

Even though he was committed to the ward as a minor, no one ever visited him. Marissa soon learned that the boy had no relatives of any kind, nor a friend or a guardian who had custody over him. Rumors around the ward told of an important political figure who served as his legal guardian, but the only evidence of this so-called  _ guardian _ were her signatures on the various forms regarding Hiro's treatment. No one has ever seen her visiting the ward.

Everyone working at the ward knew that rehabilitation from a serious brain injury simply had to be a team effort. Other than the medical professionals, it usually involved the patient's family and social support system. Hiro had no such support and thus he didn't make any progress towards neuro-rehabilitation. He refused to cooperate with his doctors, even aggressively at times. He rejected physiotherapy, psychotherapy and speech therapy. He bluntly refused any restorative rehabilitation treatments required to aid in his cognitive and neuropsychological rehabilitation. No matter how much encouragement the medical staff tried to offer, he didn't even bother trying.

Dr. Alan Grabelsky – the head of the ward – had just about given up on Hiro. Over coffee in the rec-room, he had confided in her that if they couldn't get Hiro to cooperate soon, they might miss the window of opportunity for his neuropsychological rehabilitation, which was most effective during the first year after brain damage has occurred. Feeling sorry that such a young man – barely out of his teens – was willing to give up on life, Marissa decided to take action. While she might have not had the time or money to become the doctor she had always dreamed of being and was only be a nurse on minimum wage, she was still in a position to do some good; she could still save a life. And so, Marissa appointed herself as Hiro's social support, as both his caregiver and his friend.

She began spending every lunch hour in his room instead of the cafeteria. Since he was never inclined to speak with her (he barely even turned away from the window to spare her a glance), Marissa simply kept him silent company as she nibbled on a sandwich. After two weeks or so, Hiro had turned to her, frowning, and warily asked  _ 'why?' _ She just smiled and shrugged helplessly, indicating that there was no particular reason for her being there. She feared that he would reject her if he thought she was acting out of pity. Confused by her response, Hiro had turned back to gaze thoughtfully out the window. The next day, he wasn't staring out the window when she entered the room. Instead, his gaze was fixed at the door, awaiting her arrival.

Reassured, Marissa took her efforts up a notch. At least twice or thrice a week she stayed at the ward after her shift ended and kept him company for an hour or two. While Hiro never regarded her with more than a curious or confused glance, he never complained about her presence either. In fact, he accepted her company quite peacefully. Even if she simply sat by his bedside and read a novel quietly, her being there seemed to ease his heart somehow, and so she had persisted visiting his room.

For the first few weeks, they mostly watched television together in the evenings, never exchanging a word. At some point she got over her awkwardness and began speaking to him, telling him about life outside the hospital. Hiro was unable to speak coherently, but he did listen intently to what she had to say, gazing at her with a pair of inquisitive Prussian blue eyes. She soon learned that Hiro was very concerned about global affairs and she did her best to update him on whatever story was making headlines that day. Sometimes she read him from the newspaper. As the weeks went by, Marissa found that the quiet evenings they spent together became less than a personal commitment and more of an enjoyable pass-time, even if she just sat by his side, reading silently while he slept.

Due to his condition, Hiro slept for most parts of the day. Even so, Marissa persisted in her regular visiting hours without fail. She wanted to be there in case he opened his eyes however briefly; she didn't want him to think that she would only be there if he was awake. She wanted him to know that the time she spent in his room was dedicated solely to him. Routine was essential for patients recovering from brain damage. Her punctuality and devotion bettered Hiro somehow. He seemed much more aware of his surroundings, suddenly lucid as he waited for her anticipated visit. She brought order to Hiro's muddled world. Dr. Grabelsky supported her efforts to encourage the young patient to make the initial steps towards recovery. Her presence gave Hiro an incentive to start coping with his condition. Struggling with jumbled words, he even dared speaking to her. Eventually, he even accepted the assistance of a speech therapist. 

While his pronunciation became much more articulate, for a long time Hiro remained very incoherent. He was speaking words correctly, but they were very out of context. For some unknown reason, for the longest time his mind had fixated on numbers. They became an obsession: he'd ask her for the time endlessly; he'd speak about the time even more, mumbling disjointedly about something taking place on  _ 'eighteen forty five hundred hours'  _ or something other on  _ 'twenty four hundred hours' _ . He'd mumble about  _ 'zero three'  _ or  _ 'zero four' _ and mutter angrily about  _ 'zero two' _ . He'd tell her that there was someone on her  _ 'six'  _ or that she should watch out for the  _ 'boogie at three O'clock' _ . He'd often ask  _ 'when?' _ or  _ 'how long?' _ and she would helplessly reply that  _ 'a week ago' _ , _ 'for about ten hours' _ . She  never knew the context of his inquiries;  _ 'two hundred and fifty suit?' _ he'd ask and she never knew how to answer.  _ 'Divide them between us' _ , he would then tell her and she simply had to agree. Sometimes all he said were things like  _ 'nine or eight?'  _ and she would reply by saying  _ 'eight. That isn't so bad, is it? It's bearable' _ , and he would nod, agreeing to something she was completely clueless about.

Hiro was extremely prone to delusions. Sometimes he'd hallucinate that she was someone else, at another time and place. Marissa often found that she had no choice but to cooperate with his fantasy, for there was no reasoning with him. She played along to the best of her abilities as to not to aggravate him further. If he spoke to her about things she knew nothing about, she'd struggle to reply in a manner that would at least appear to be reasonable, giving him answers he could interpret in any context.

She had to be very patient with him. Due to his condition Hiro was very stubborn, childish and unbearably frustrating at times. It took a lot of time and patience, not to mention more than a little ingenuity, to get him to cooperate with the doctors at the ward, but the results were well worth her trouble. Hiro slowly began taking substantial steps towards rehabilitation, all under her encouragement, aid and care. Dr. Grabelsky called her a  _ "miracle worker" _ when, at the dawn of AC 198, Hiro really started to put his heart into it and actually  _ fought  _ for recovery. Somehow, the promise she had sealed with a kiss that Christmas Eve had touched Hiro more than anything else she had said or done prior.

Since that Christmas kiss, Hiro had doubled if not tripled his efforts to retrain his brain. He called it his  _ "mission" _ ; it became an unwavering goal he simply  _ had _ to achieve and excel at it. She watched proudly as he strove to achieve his goal, one step at a time. He had worked extremely hard to regain his most basic cognitive and motor skills. It was a dire, painful and demanding process. The smallest achievement required weeks of hard work, but his efforts were paying off, which only encouraged him to try harder.

His fine-movement coordination has improved greatly. His inability to distinguish objects accurately had all but vanished. Hiro could now tell the difference between many shapes and colors and he could also reach for objects and grab them if needed. The Word Blindness he had suffered from (his inability to recognize words) has also eased significantly and his listening comprehension was much better compared to when he had first arrived at the ward. He wasn't capable of understanding a conversation as well as he probably could comprehend before the head injury, but he was relearning, and fast. Thanks to many taxing months of speech therapy, he could also respond properly when spoken to. He no longer spoke in a Scanning Speech (slurring heavily and skipping words) as much as he used to a few month back and his pronunciation was much more articulate.

Even so, the road towards recovery was still long and winding. Walking, for example, was still beyond him. The injury his left leg and pelvis had suffered caused permanent damage. His left leg will be forever shorter than his right, which would most likely cause a limp. Bone plates and bolts kept his bones in place, but hurt him constantly, especially during wintertime. Physiotherapy would eventually allow him to leave his wheelchair, but the process was lengthy. The physiotherapy sessions were the hardest and most painful for him to bear. He had often surrendered to tears during sessions, either from pain or frustration. He was still prone to emotional outbursts and not once he had given up in the middle of the session, throwing a tantrum and screaming  _ 'what's the point!' _

After a difficult and wearisome session, he would sometimes refuse to resume therapy and she would have to convince him that walking was an achievement which will be worth his while. He had asked her  _ 'why?' _ many times, demanding a reason for his suffering and a purpose to struggle for. Being a woman of God, she often spoke to him about faith, but her words fell on deaf ears. Hiro was too bitter to consider the comfort of her religion; he thought it to be nothing more than empty promises and senseless propaganda.

Despite their different views on life, Marissa managed to find a way to reach him. She constantly reminded him of his "mission", speaking to him in terms which were meaningful to him. They planned this mission together, setting primary and secondary goals, backup plans and intermediate points which had to be achieved on the way to the prime objective of full recovery, so they could take it one step at a time. It was a concept Hiro was still struggling to grasp, for he was so keen on achieving everything at once. He was terrified of failure and deeply discouraged by it. One of the first things he had to learn was that achieving a goal took many trials and efforts.

In summation, she became a crucial part of his recovery. Both she and Grabelsky knew how vital her support was to Hiro and therefore Dr. Grabelsky agreed that she'd spend more time with him, sometimes even accompanying Hiro to various restorative treatment sessions.

She also spent most of her free time with him, a fact which angered her mother greatly, for the strict Mexican woman thought that being with Hiro denied Marissa of the opportunity of finding a husband. However, at twenty-six years of age, Marissa was not yet interested in a husband or a family. She was far more anxious to make a difference in the world, and being with Hiro, aiding him and supporting him, was doing just that. Her mother could never understand why she preferred to stay at the hospital during her free time instead of going on the blind dates she had set up for her. Marissa had long given up on trying explaining herself to her mother. The woman will never approve of the fact that being with Hiro made her feel like a better person. He needed her, and helping him was so very fulfilling.

Looking at him now, Marissa's eyes shone proudly. Hiro has come a long way. A few months back he couldn't sit vertically in his wheelchair for too long (his pelvis hurt him chronically), let alone agree that she'd wheel him out into the garden. Now, after long grueling months of physical therapy, he was capable of sitting more comfortably and even wheeling his own chair. His arms were finally strong enough to maneuver the wheelchair wherever and whenever he pleased. This freedom of movement has encouraged him greatly; one could finally see a sense of optimism in his eyes.

Also, many sessions of attention-process-exercises and various restorative cognitive treatments brought him back to the point where he was able to process and comprehend what he was reading, however slowly. She was proud of him for the progress he has made after months of depression and passiveness. He was truly remarkable for achieving so much in merely a year. Even Dr. Grabelsky mentioned that Hiro's steadfast recovery was quite exceptional and very encouraging.

"Here, I thought you'd like this better than hospital food," Marissa resumed talking. When springtime came and the weather became warmer, she had offered that they'll have their daily lunch break together in the garden. Hiro would finish his morning therapy sessions and wheel his chair out to the garden, waiting for her break time. She'd hurry to get them something to eat and rush out into the garden, not wishing to waste even a second of her lunch break so she could be with him and hear about his day.

"Have you been waiting here long?" she asked as she handed him one plastic container and a disposable fork.

Hiro shook his head as he accepted the items. While his speech has improved greatly over the past few months, he still refrained from talking whenever he could. She suspected that it was very difficult for him, perhaps even embarrassing. His speech was slow, slurred and his tone heavy; perhaps he was self-conscious about it. Not once had he grumbled that he hated sounding  _ 'like a retard' _ . Even so, his speech therapist hardly ever let him to get away with just a nod or a shrug. Dr. Malone was a persistent, stubborn and a most infuriating woman, which was probably why Hiro was able to speak so well after less than a year of therapy. He sometimes complained to Marissa about his maddening therapist who never gave him a break, squeezing the words out of him by any means, but, ironically, the only reason he was able to voice his complaints so well, was due to the very woman he often grumbled about.

"What are you reading?" Marissa asked as she opened her lunch box. "Is it a new book?"

Hiro nodded silently, frowning as he concentrated on opening the colorful container lid. He held the lunch box awkwardly in one hand, holding it up in front of his face, as he used his other hand to carefully remove the plastic lid. When that didn't work, for the plastic container was held unstably in his hand, he put it in his lap, over the book. He never would have reached this simple solution a few weeks ago and Marissa was happy to observe that now he did. He worked with two uncertain hands to uncover the lunch box. The task required the use of his impaired fine-motor skills, which demanded his utmost concentration on the delicate movement of his fingers. It took him a while, but he managed to open it. Marissa watched with amusement as he stared at the colorful dish awaiting him inside, stumped.

"Whole-wheat penne with turkey and asparagus," she explained with a smile, gesturing at the colorful pasta salad. "I saw this on the food network last night and figured I'd give it a shot."

He made a face; a frown which suggested that he didn't quite understand what she was saying, or that he was displeased. He stared at the dish lengthily and then lifted his confused gaze towards her again. His brows furrowed warily, questioning the quality and nature of her cooking. She laughed lightly at his endearing expression. He resembled a child who didn't wish to eat his vegetables. She knew that, much like a child and due to his condition, Hiro was very picky about his food.

"Just try it," she encouraged, "It's good for you."

Hiro poked the food with his fork. After three attempts or so, he managed to impale a piece of pasta and asparagus with the plastic utensil. Scowling at it, he brought it carefully to his mouth took a timid bite to taste if it was to his liking.  He chewed on it thoughtfully for a while, gazing ahead numbly. After watching him for a few seconds more, assuring herself that her cooking has been approved, Marissa turned to her lunch as well.

"Horton Hears... a W-What," Hiro suddenly murmured and Marissa looked up again. For a short moment, she was confused. Then she realized that his mind was finally free to process and respond to the last question she had asked him, regarding the colorful children's book still resting in his lap.

"A Who," she corrected softly; " _ What _ refers to an object and  _ who _ refers to a person," she explained.

Hiro nodded in dismissal, as he often did when she corrected something he already knew. She realized that he had merely mixed up the words and hadn't actually forgotten their meaning. She smiled in apology.

"I love Doctor Seuss," she commented lightly, "Do you like the book?"

Hiro offered a careless shrug and returned to concentrate on his lunch. Shrugging was a gesture he used often. When the act of speaking was too demanding, for he was too concentrated on something else, he usually resorted to body language and facial expressions. For the first few months after his arrival to the ward, gestures and expressions were his only means of communication. They were a habit which he apparently found hard to shake. On some days it was easier for him to communicate with gestures rather than verbally, especially after physiotherapy, when he was exhausted and words would fail him. However, Marissa made it her personal mission to never let him get away with a shrug instead of a full sentence.

"Why don't you like it?"

Hiro chewed on his lunch thoughtfully. "It's stupid," he said after a while.

"Because it's for children?"

She watched him struggle to impale a few slippery pieces of pasta, chasing them around the plastic lunch box with his fork. He concentrated on fishing them out of the box, insisting on poking those two particular pieces. Hiro had a tendency to fixate on things obsessively. His mind simply refused to accept failure, forcing him into endless loops of one attempt after the other, until he succeeded. Sometimes, when his efforts proved futile no matter how much he tried, Marissa had to stop him, serving the loop, and present him with another option; his damaged mind was unable to come up with an alternative on its own, imprisoning him in a continuous loop of a single action. 

Hiro remained silent, focused deeply on his task. She watched him worriedly, fearing that he might be caught in such a loop.  Finally, he managed to spear the food with the fork and take another bite. Now free of his fixation, he turned to her and nodded in response to her last question, indicating that he thought the book was stupid because it was meant for children.

Marissa was relieved that he broke the loop on his own. A few weeks ago he would have failed to maneuver his hand properly to pick up the food and he would have gone on and on chasing the same few pieces of pasta. She smiled, feeling proud of the progress he had made. It was the little things, these small achievements, which encouraged him the most. A perfectionist, details were crucial to him. It didn't matter if he could finally _do_ something; he wasn't satisfied until he did it _just_ _right_. While his doctors constantly encouraged him by saying that he had successfully re-mastered many basic skills, Hiro only called it a success if he could manage to do it without fault.

"Well, I think it's brilliant," she argued. "Some children's books are more than what they seem."

"It's just... pra—prac—practice," Hiro muttered irritably, annoyed since he had difficulty pronouncing the word. "Big ele—elephant and... stupid…  _ rhymes _ ."

She laughed. "You have to look beyond the colorful animals and rhymes."

He turned to her with a question in his eyes, frowning slightly, asking her to clarify.

"A person's a person, no matter how small," she quoted the book, smiling wistfully. "It's the message behind the words that counts. This is a book about acceptance, about tolerance and faith. We need more books like this one in this crazy world. I know that this is one book I would one day read to my child."

Hiro regarded her thoughtfully for a long moment. She could see in his eyes that he understood what she was trying to say; he simply didn't have the words to respond properly. It was hard for him to express complex thoughts. He just nodded, accepting her argument.

Despite what many seemed to think, patients recovering from brain damage were  _ not  _ stupid; they were just  _ hurt. _ Marissa knew that the patients in the ward should not be looked down upon or considered inferior simply because they lacked the ability to act or express himself like a healthy human being. Much like she didn't appreciate people mistaking her accent for ignorance, believing that simply because she spoke with an accent she also thought with one, she knew better than to treat Hiro and other patients at the ward as though they were invalids. As Dr. Seuss had so wisely mentioned: a person was a person, no matter what. She was determined to see Hiro through the long and difficult process of recovery and she was going to treat him with the proper care and respect he – just like anyone – deserved. 

"I said what I meant and I meant what I said," she spoke slowly while keeping her gaze locked on his. "An elephant's faithful one hundred percent!" she finished with a wide, affectionate, smile. Hiro frowned at her, wrinkles forming on his forehead as he struggled to comprehend her words. She smiled at him.

"It's another quote from the book," she explained. "You probably didn't get to it yet."

He sighed, looking away, troubled. "Dunno that..." he admitted quietly, bowing his head.

"What? A quote?"

Hiro shook his head. "Faithfull," he murmured, shrugging helplessly.

"Oh," she let out, dumbfounded. It wasn't often when Hiro admitted to not being able to recognize a certain word. Usually, he was too stubborn or too proud to confess on such occasions, which didn't make much sense to her because she had seen him in his absolute worst – in his most vulnerable and pitiable states. For weeks she had taken care of his most basic needs, staying by his side as he struggled to relearn the most rudimentary of skills. There was nothing he should feel embarrassed or humiliated about in her presence, but still Hiro still seemed to feel awkward around her. She supposed that it was in his nature to be uncomfortable around people, especially those who tried to get close to him.

"Well, uhm, it means a number of things, I guess," she tried to explain the word to him to the best of her abilities. "You know, my English isn't that great either, so I'm no dictionary, but uh... well, I guess that in Horton's case it means that he's reliable. He's an elephant who's worthy of trust."

Hiro turned to look at her, dark anguish in his eyes. "So I'm... not?"

She frowned, struggling to understand what he meant. "You don't think you're worthy of trust?"

He huffed in annoyance, blowing a lock of hair out of his eyes. He got frustrated when he couldn't articulate what he wanted to say.

"I think I can't... I can't have that... anymore."

"Hiro," she spoke softly, her voice full of compassion; "Having someone to rely on is one of our most basic needs. To have faith in others and to have faith in the Lord... it helps us have faith in ourselves. It makes us strong."

He sighed, frustrated. She had failed to understand him. He shook his head, dismissing her words. Heero was never comfortable when she spoke about her faith. She got the feeling that he had more to say on the subject, but couldn't find the words to phrase it yet. Instead, Hiro turned to look down at the book again. He ate silently, keeping his head bowed while staring thoughtfully at the colorful book in his lap.

Marissa wished he would take the time to listen to her. She truly believed that her faith could offer him solace, heal him by filling the great dark void in his soul. Salvation rested solely on the work of God's grace for humankind. Those who believed were justified by grace through faith alone. The Holy Spirit led believers by guiding, teaching, sanctifying and filling them. If she could only make him see that, if he would only be inclined to listen, then maybe faith in the Lord Jesus could save him too.

Yet Hiro was too resentful towards God. His pain and grief denied him of accepting His Word and thus only bitterness remained in his heart. Once, a few months back, she had offered to read him from the Bible, to share God's inspired, infallible Word, in hope that it would offer him some consolation. Hiro didn't respond too kindly to her offer and she had learned the hard way that she must choose wisely how to share her faith with him. Since then, she did her best not to impose it on him. She tried to make him see the how vital faith was to people by offering her personal point of view, speaking of how her belief benefitted her.

"I was taught to believe that our Lord works in mysterious ways," she told him; "It comforts me to know that there is a reason for everything." She reached her hand towards him, resting it soothingly on his shoulder. "I believe that one day you will find the meaning behind your ordeal."

"There's no... No m-me-mean—ing," he stuttered, shaking his head as he stared wretchedly at his lunch. "I just... Jay just wanted... It's just... my fault."

Marissa's eyes shone sadly as she watched him; he seemed so miserable, so hopeless. She wished so much she could understand what he was trying to tell her, what hurt he was trying to share.

"I know it must be difficult to see it now," she offered carefully, "but I don't believe that this is all for nothing. You've made such a miraculous recovery, both physically and mentally. You've beaten every odd the doctors had given you. If that isn't a miracle, I don't know what is. And miracles happen for a reason, Hiro."

"People make mir—mir—mira—cles, not... not...  _ God _ ," he argued to the best of his abilities. His eyes shifted to glance at the silver cross pendant she wore around her neck. Hiro stared at it often; she believed that it reminded him of something, something important that he refused to share. It comforted her to know that despite their different takes on religion, he could still find meaning in the symbol of her faith.

"If not God, then at least have faith in people," she suggested softly. "They might give you the strength you need to keep pulling off miracles."

He raised his head to look at her again, his eyes shimmering strangely, telling her that she had touched his heart in some way. She wished she knew how exactly. As much as she was able to read his every expression, every minute faltering of his voice, she still couldn't comprehend the vast oceans of a thousand raw emotions raging in his Prussian blue eyes. There was just too much going on in his eyes for her to grasp. The countless blue shades forming his irises held many secrets, telling a hundred tales at once, all blending together into a deeply hurting, bottomless and mystifying blue gaze. Sometimes it hurt to look into his eyes for too long, but still she tried, hoping to distinguish at least one tale, at least one secret, or gain even a brief glimpse at his tortured soul, sorting his unique truth out of the blur of deep blue emotions swirling constantly in his eyes.

While she had learned about his past from piecing together things he had said at random (whether delusional, dreaming or simply confused), there was still much she did not know about him. Files regarding his past were confidential; not that she was allowed to know even that much, but she had overheard Dr. Grabelsky speak about it. Once, she had even seen a Preventer agent in Grabelsky's office and she was certain that they were discussing Hiro. There was an air of mystery around the young man, a forbiddance of sorts, which made the mystery even more alluring.

After a tense moment, Hiro broke eye contact, looking away bleakly. He stared ahead at the bushes across the lawn, where two yellow butterflies danced around one another in a mating ritual.

"There's... no need for... mira—cles now," he whispered sorrowfully. "Used to be, but..." he sighed, shaking his head sadly; "He just... just... he... I can't have it anymore," Hiro concluded miserably, casting his gaze down to his lap as he shrugged helplessly. "It's my fault."

Marissa's smile faded. Hiro still had difficulty phrasing flowing and logical sentences. His mind tended to wander, jumping from one thought to another in a long stream of associative topics only he was able to connect. There was much clutter left in his mind by the head injury and his logic was hard to follow at times. Still, she could clearly sense his despair. She understood that he spoke of a lack of purpose, of loneliness and abandonment. Even without knowing the exact nature of the  _ "miracles" _ he had managed to perform, or exactly who were the people who had abandoned him, Marissa still knew enough to understand his pain and sympathize with him. She knew well of hurt, abandonment and betrayal. Her father had abandoned her family soon after they arrived to the US and was never heard from again. She was only thirteen at the time and she still felt that his abandonment was her fault.

Her eyes shone sadly, feeling for the boy. She reached a hand up to pet his hair gently, tucking a stray lock behind his ear, but he pulled away, tilting sideways to avoid her touch. She drew her hand back, feeling awkward. Sometimes, she simply didn't know how to comfort him. Hiro was a very complex individual, torn between his need for compassion and his fear of it. His heart was frail. Past hurt and betrayal had left his heart hurting with both a deep longing for and dread of human kindness. The contradiction was a painful one to bear. His heart threatened to break each time he was faced with either of those powerful emotions. Sometimes, her comfort eased that hurt; however most of the time, she was only stirring his dread of closeness. She never ceased trying though, hoping one day he would respond with acceptance, rather than recoil with dismay.

"I know you'll get through this," she assured him, hoping her words didn't fall on deaf ears. "And in the meanwhile," she smiled softly as she took his hand in hers, looking into his eyes; "You can have faith in me. I'll help you pull off at least one more miracle. You can count on me," she promised and squeezed his hand gently. Her assurance had to be spoken simply and honestly; otherwise, he would fail to grasp it.

Hiro didn't respond. His gaze was now fixed on the book on his lap and the glazed-over look in his eyes suggested that he was somewhere far away. Marissa sighed, regretting that he might have not heard her promise. Then, much to her surprise, Hiro curled his fingers gently around her hand, returning the tender squeeze. He didn't turn to face her, perhaps shying away from the sudden intimacy, but at least he heard her. He accepted her promise, and that was enough for now.

Marissa's smile returned to her lush red lips. She responded by entwining her fingers with his. She looked down at their joined hands, relishing in the sight of his pale dainty fingers against the tanned palm of her hand. Her gaze lingered on the hospital-tag around Hiro's bony wrist. He seemed so frail... she had a very strong urge to hold him, to look after him where no one else would. She squeezed his hand once more, trying to convey emotions she wouldn't dare put into words.

*             *             *

Philadelphian summer was hot and muggy. The air conditioning at the ward was working around the clock to battle the unbearable heat and humidity. The flowers in the garden had wilted due to the scorching sun. The elegant white stone benches were now too hot to sit on during lunchtime; one could cook their lunch on them if needed. However, inside the ward's large hydrotherapy center, the air was cool and refreshing. A large indoor swimming pool provided both a place for Aquatic Physiotherapy and a cool environment for some of the staff to escape to during lunchtime. Nurses who were not a part of the physiotherapy staff were not allowed in the pool and had to settle for sitting around it as they had lunch. Marissa, however, was always an exception.

Wearing a navy-blue one-piece swimsuit over her full-feminine figure, the young Hispanic nurse stood inside the pool, the cool water reaching just below her chest. Her dark wavy hair was gathered into a thick ponytail, its curly edges floating in the water like a fan, swayed by gentle ripples. Wet locks of hair framed her lovely face. Her long curls dripped water onto the sterling silver necklace she wore around her long neck; the droplets streamed down the silver cross pendant and disappeared into her tanned and bountiful cleavage.

She was standing between two metal rails which formed a runway across the long pool. Hiro stood a few dozen feet ahead of her, at the center of the shallow pool, holding onto both rails for support. He was dressed in a simple pair of swim-trunks, his untrimmed hair and long bangs wet and dripping water onto his naked torso. He had just finished a daily session of hydrotherapy when Marissa joined him in the pool for some extra practice. She had promised to treat him to whatever he wants for lunch if he could manage to make three more laps back and forth across the pool. While exhausted from a day of physical therapy, Hiro was nevertheless up for the challenge. Stubborn and proud as he was, nowadays, he hardly ever refused a dare.

He had just completed his second round across the pool and was halfway through the third when his pace began to slow considerably, until he stopped right there at the middle of the pool, panting and trembling from exhaustion.

"Tired?" Marissa asked worriedly; her voice echoed within the large indoor pool dome, drawing the attention of a few nurses who were chatting by the poolside. After glaring briefly at the two nosy nurses, Hiro turned back to Marissa and shook his head stubbornly. His breathing was labored to the point of speechlessness, but the look in his eyes said it all: he was not ready to give up just yet. He'll see the challenge through, much like he always did.

"Come on Hiro, you can do it," she encouraged. She felt bad for pushing him so hard, but she had learned that it was just what he needed to hear. "Just a few more steps," she added with a sympathetic smile. "C'mon, get going already! I'm  _ starving _ ," she added playfully, trying to wound his pride, for it usually motivated Hiro to push himself even harder.

It had been months since she had last seen Hiro give up in the middle of a physiotherapy session, no matter how difficult the session might be for his feeble body. Restorative and cognitive therapy were also getting more challenging as his skills improved and he was pushed harder to relearn what he had lost. Thankfully, Hiro no longer quit cooperating when the sessions got too demanding. Quite the contrary, he seemed to thrive on challenge, especially now, when he was finally able to achieve the goals he set for himself. His past childish and petulant behavior had eased significantly. She was able to reason with him as one adult to another more often. He was maturing, healing and growing stronger progressively. She felt prouder of him with each passing day.

"If you won't make it over here, you can forget all about those pancakes you wanted," she called out with a taunting smirk.

Hiro glared at her defiantly. "I want—" he coughed, still out of breath, "—you promised a—a burger," he wheezed, though he was still glaring at her in defiance, daring her to tell him to call it quits.

"Right," Marissa laughed and raised her hands up in surrender. Earlier, when she had first dared him to make three more rounds, Hiro had asked for pancakes. It seemed that he had forgotten all about it, which was not uncommon. He was quite forgetful.

"Burgers it is," she repeated with a playful smile. "That is,  _ if _ you can walk over here."

Hiro nodded, accepting the "mission". Taking a deep breath, he curled his fists tightly around the rails by his sides and slowly, carefully, resumed walking towards her. He was limping, even in the water – a sign that his body had reached its limit for the day. She knew that his left leg and pelvis must be hurting him badly by now. While the water did make walking possible for him, allowing him to stand on his own two feet by reducing the weight of his body, coordinating his legs was still a tiring process that demanded much concentration and caused great physical strain. He was yet unable to stand without the support of the rails, and after over an hour of walking back and forth inside the pool, it was no small wonder that he was so exhausted. Still, Marissa knew better than to show him pity and convince him to back down. She had faith in him; she knew he will complete the task without a single compliant. The sense of accomplishment he will gain by doing so was well worth the price of hurting for a while longer.

By the time Hiro managed to cover the distance between them, lunch break was over and the staff lounging around the pool had returned to their posts. Marissa also had to return to her shift, but Hiro was far more important than cleaning another bedpan or two. Dr. Grabelsky seemed to cut her a lot of slack when it came to Hiro.

The young man finally reached the edge of the pool. He stood in front of her, barely a feet away, leaning heavily against the rail to his right. He was panting hard, his chest heaving up and down with each labored breath. His arms had grown muscular after months of physiotherapy and maneuvering his wheelchair around the ward, though they now shook from the strain of supporting his body against the rails for so long. For a moment she thought he was about to topple over before he steadied himself again. His damp bangs clung to his forehead, still dripping water because he had stumbled into the pool a few times when his legs had given way. He reached a shaky hand up to push the wet bangs out of his eyes. His pale features were wet; large clear droplet streamed slowly down his cheeks, nose and chin. His lips were parted slightly, drawing in a lungful of air.

He looked at her, a strange shine in his unreadable blue eyes. Standing so close to him, dressed only in a skintight swimsuit, Marissa felt terribly exposed. His eyes bore holes into her very being, daring her to turn away from what she saw within the wild, bottomless, Prussian blue oceans. While others would have felt compelled to look away from such a potent and overwhelming gaze, forced to turn away or else they'd drown, she could not shift her eyes away from his alluring eyes.

She saw triumph in his eyes. She could tell he felt proud of himself, finally in control. A sense of dominance radiated from him: intense, masculine and strong. Suddenly, she no longer saw him as a young, lost and confused boy coming out of his teens. Looking at him now, Marissa was suddenly highly aware of him as a man.

She stood quietly before him, listening to him struggle to catch his breath. Her eyes were drawn to his chest as it moved hastily up and down. Her gaze slowly blurred as she stared lengthily at the thin layer of dark damp hairs clinging to his upper body; an obvious sign of his emerging manhood she had witnessed developing over the past year and a half. Inadvertently, her gaze traveled down his torso, studying him quietly.

Hiro had gained some healthy weight; he was no longer as skeletally thin as he had been when he had first been transferred to the ward. He was still quite slim, but no longer so frail-looking. His formerly pale complexion has also improved. His skin-tone had gained a healthy golden hue after the many days they had spent together in the garden, washed by pleasant sunlight.

He was very handsome. She had noticed that before, but never on a sexual level. She never looked at him that way, always clinically detached while tending to him. However, looking at him now, Marissa soon became aware of her own heavy breathing. Her breasts were moving heavily up and down, tingling with arousal as her eyes traveled down his torso.

His body was perfectly proportioned; built magnificently as though designed with purpose. There was an exotic quality to his good looks, undoubtedly due to cross-cultural marriage or genetic manipulation, which was very popular among parents in the AC era. His Prussian blue eyes were exceptional, evidence of his exotic decent. She loved how they shone so lively, like jewels reflecting his unique and brilliant spirit. He hardly ever smiled, however on the rare occasions when she had had the privilege of seeing a hint of a smile tug at his lips, she had indulged in how his Prussian blue eyes lit up, shimmering vividly. The extraordinary sight would have won over anyone's heart, for it told of his benevolence, valor and strength; it told of a spirit which could not be broken.

Much like the ancient look in his eyes, Hiro's body also told of experiences far beyond his eighteen years of age. His body was still that of a young man approaching twenty, however his scarred flesh was evidence of more than a lifetime of hardship he had endured in his relatively short existence. Scar-tissue marred vast areas of his torso, where skin had been slashed and scorched. Old burn marks distorted large areas on his right side, marring his right shoulder blade, armpit and his upper waist. Deep slashes he had suffered had left their marks on his abdomen and chest in a crisscross display of thin white scars, the longest one running slantwise across his entire chest. His skin was littered with small jagged round scars – marks she recognized as old cigarette burns. Another small round scar, evidence of a gunshot wound, tarnished his right shoulder as well.

His body bore many more marks of the harsh punishments he had been subjected to over the years. She could still vividly recall the first time she had bathed him, running a warm sponge over his frail body as he had lain motionless on his bed, mortified and disgraced. She had discovered many old scars that evening. The most dreadful one was a long, purplish-red scar across the right crease of his groin. It was a smooth, clean cut. Its reddish shade suggested that it was inflicted on him about a year or two ago, for the scar hadn't turned white yet. It marred the pale skin of Hiro's groin as a testimonial of something too dreadful to grasp. Marissa's heart had caved with compassion when she had first seen it. She couldn't get the sight of it out of her head since, always aware of its presence, of the horrifying tale it told.

Each scar on Hiro's body told a different horror story, a collection of mysteries that made him who he was. Much like his soul, Hiro's body had been beaten, abused and yet – never completely broken. She admired him for that; she admired him for struggling, for his resolve to choose life despite the pain. Looking at him standing before her, exhausted yet content, Marissa found that his newly regained inner-strength, his new sense of purpose and determination, made him ever more alluring.

"Rissa?" he breathed her name quietly, undoubtedly confused by her gawking at him for so long. It was an affectionate nickname he had adopted for her a few months back and she loved hearing it whispered by his gentle tone. She used to hate the name  _ Rissa _ , because that was how her father called her before he split. Now she found herself waiting longingly for the rare intimate moments when Hiro felt comfortable enough to use her nickname. Sometimes, she even wished that he would whisper it in her ear...

Ashamed of herself, Marissa finally averted her eyes away from him and stared down at the water. The weight of the silver cross she wore around her neck suddenly felt ten times heavier. She imagined feeling it scorch the skin above her breasts, punishing her for sinful thoughts. He was only eighteen... and so clueless about everything. His heart was too frail; touching it might bring it to shatter completely.

"I bet you're hungry," she murmured quietly, feeling the heat of blushing on her cheeks. When he didn't reply, she dared look up at him again. He was studying her quietly, a thoughtful shine in his eyes.

"We should go eat," she added, her voice faltering slightly. She berated her foolish girlish behavior. She was a twenty-six year old woman, not a damn high-school girl! Seeing him in swim-trunks shouldn't have such an effect on her, not after she had bathed him so many times! And yet, she couldn't help but suddenly react to him as a woman reacted to a man. Embarrassed, she turned around to face the pool coping.

"I'll go get your chair," she said and placed her hands on the rim, preparing to lift herself out of the pool. She felt the water shift around her as Hiro took a step closer to stand directly behind her, almost at a hair's breadth. His close proximity was solid and intense; _ electrifying _ . Her whole body tingled. She shivered slightly, Goosebumps forming on her tanned skin as she imagined feeling his body heat against her despite the cold water.

Even though she wasn't facing him, she felt him in every cell of her body. He was slightly taller than her, not enough to tower above her, but still enough to make her feel engulfed by his powerful presence. She swallowed, trying to control her breathing. She didn't turn to face him, fearing that he might catch a glimpse of her sinful thoughts just by looking into her eyes. She waited for him to say something, to do  _ anything _ , but he just stood there; being close, so very close...

"I'll call Mike to help you out of the water," she said, still facing the edge of the pool. Hiro didn't reply verbally, but she knew that he had heard her and that he would wait for the orderly. She also knew that she was confusing him, but she didn't know what to do about it; she was confused herself.

Using two arms as leverage, Marissa heaved herself out of the water. She could feel his intense gaze on her as she did. She didn't dare to turn around and look, but she indulged in the thought that he might be looking at her behind as she exited the pool. The thought excited her and she shamelessly swayed her hips as she went to bring his wheelchair and call the orderly on duty.

God will surely punish her for this. Hiro was still too young, too inexperienced to answer her sinful lust. Despite his immense strength of mind, his heart was far too fragile, young. He wasn't ready to deal with her immoral needs.

She feared for him. Hiro was already heartbroken; she didn't wish to hurt him further. And yet, she couldn't ignore the selfish need to gently hold his beautiful heart in her hands, to cradle it lovingly and protect it from harm. If given the chance to love him in her lifetime, Marissa was willing to suffer for her sins in the afterlife. That was how precious he was to her. If her love could offer him salvation of any kind, then Marissa was willing to let her eternal soul burn in fires of Hell. May Christ forgive her, but as far as she was concerned, Hiro was well worth paying the price for a love formed in iniquity.

*             *             *

**To be continued in Chapter 11: Hiro:**

oOo

He remembered sleeping under the stars after leaving the MO2 satellite. He remembered crying...

oOo

Broken; he had been broken. Duo broke him and now he couldn't be fixed.

oOo

He coughed, fighting off the persistent bile. Thoughts of Duo always did this to him. They raised the filth to an unbearable level.

oOo


	13. Chapter 11: Hiro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's Note:** This chapter and the next one used to be one REALLY long chapter I decided to break into two. Since they're part of the same sequence plot-wise, I'm posting them together. Enjoy.  
>  Elle

**One Week 13/20**

**Chapter 11: Hiro**

 

Autumn decorated the hospital garden with warm shades of rich orange, brown and gold. Dry foliage descended slowly to the moist ground, swept away by a chilly breeze. Grey melancholic skies stretched above the green grass areas. The lawn and white gravel pathways were wet with remnants of the light drizzle which had rained but an hour ago. Hiro sat on the same bench on which Marissa and he used to sit on in springtime. He was no longer restricted to a wheelchair, rather sitting on the bench itself. A standard metal walker, its four wheels covered in mud, stood next to the bench. The air was quite chilly and the wind tousled his hair as it brushed by, carrying dry foliage into the air.

Hiro was dressed in a plain black tracksuit with white stripes. His feet were clad in a pair of simple white sneakers, which were a bit muddy from the short stroll he had taken around the garden. Walking was difficult, painful and very tiresome for him still, but he had made a personal promise to himself to walk around the garden at least once a day, for practice and exercise. His physiotherapist approved of the initiative quite happily and Dr. Grabelsky even bought him the tracksuit and sneakers, which were a refreshing change from his plaid robe, green hospital pajamas and slippers he had been wearing for the past two years. He had other clothes, of course, but they were ones Relena had sent him, so he didn't use them. It was a subtle defiant statement, but it was the least he could do to express his resentment. Relena stopped sending him clothes after a while. Maybe someone told her about how he refused to wear them, so she stopped. Anyway, now that he finally had something  _ real _  he could wear, he almost felt like a person again... not just a crippled patient.

Since he was much more alert during the daytime, Hiro no longer brought books with him to the garden, preferring to read before bedtime. During the day, it was easier for him to concentrate on more demanding tasks. Dr. Elin, his Recreational Therapist and the man supervising his Cognitive Retraining, gave him weekly tasks to complete, which he performed dutifully much like any other assignment he'd been handed in the past. A few months back, the assignments had been simple enough; most of them involved toys or games that were originally meant for infants. With time, as his skills improved, the tasks grew more difficult in nature and constantly tested his impaired mental and motor skills. Hiro was fine with that. He thrived on defying the odds. Overcoming the trials posed by his condition was the only justification his existence held now that he was unable to fulfill his purpose as a soldier.

This week, Dr. Elin asked him to choose a task he thought might be interesting. He chose the Rubik's Cube puzzle, which had caught his eye at that moment. Since he recalled that even as a child he had been quick and bright about solving the puzzle, Hiro truly expected it to be easy, but Dr. Elin insisted that it was still too soon for him to try solving it, as it was a challenge to many healthy adults as well. The good doctor suggested that he should try completing only two Rubik's Cube faces – a blue and a red face.

True to Dr. Elin's assumptions, Hiro soon found that he wasn't quite as clever and swift as he had been as a child. The Cube proved to be quite a challenge after all. He's been working on it for a good part of the week now, which frustrated him greatly. He wanted to hand the assignment in at the end of the week, which will be tomorrow, but so far he only managed to gather two rows of blues on one face and two and a half columns of reds on another side of the colorful cube. He hated having to admit defeat, which was something he hadn't become accustomed to yet – even after nearly two years of living with his frustrating condition. Ever since the head injury, every little thing he wished to achieve resulted in many futile attempts before he managed to succeed, sometimes only partially. He had never accepted failure before; mainly because he had been raised in such a brutal way that his every fiasco resulted in a harsh punishment for his shortcomings. Now, when almost everything he did ensued humiliation, he was forced to accept that some things were simply beyond him. He had to daily remind himself that no one would hold it against him. It was alright to fail.

That was what he hated most about his condition. People didn't expect much of him now. That was why he was so grateful that Marissa didn't cut him any slack. She was the only one who pushed him into trying harder, just a little bit more than what he thought he could do. She saved him that way, because at least when he was trying for her, he didn't have to hate himself so much. He didn't have to feel so powerless, so broken and obsolete. She made him feel like himself again. With her, he was stronger... more like The Soldier.

He mourned for the loss of The Soldier. He felt emasculated without him. Without his strength and indifference, Hiro felt very lost and very small. He missed being untouchable. The frailty and vulnerability he constantly felt were slowly eating away at his sense of self. He was no longer a soldier; he was no longer the person he was raised to be. He had suffered greatly to become that person and now... now he was just suffering without being anything, anyone. He didn't know who he was anymore. The Soldier was dead, so what— _ who  _ was left of him?

The Soldier died almost two years ago. Two years that he has been living without an identity, without purpose. Gundam pilot Zero One, codenamed  _ 'Heero Yuy' _ , died when he had crashed his Gundam, buried and forgotten under the Brussels' Presidential Palace wreckage. The ramifications of that crash became Heero's only legacy: he had left a world of peace for the people of Earth and the Colonies, and a world of pain for his successor –  _ Hiro _ .

He had been reborn that day: a part of him had died and another had survived, left to fend on his own in a life without The Soldier. Everything he knew had been shattered in an instant. The crash left his mind empty, devoid of sense and purpose. He had no choice but to continue struggling through life as the inferior  _ Hiro _ . All he could do was keep trying to regain what he had lost. He  _ will _  prove himself worthy again. It might take some time, but he was determined to overcome this new hardship. Beating the odds was what he did best and he refused to settle for any less – he  _ will _ solve this damn Rubik's Cube puzzle!

Frowning in concentration, Hiro managed to shift two more blue cubes to the same side as the other blues, but as a result he accidentally shifted a red cube away from a column of reds. In addition, there were still many more cubes to move and the task was beginning to seem impossible to complete. He rotated the cube repeatedly, trying desperately to find a solution that would work. Frustrated, he held the Rubik's Cube up to his face and glared at it as though it might submit and begin rotating itself until it found a solution.

"Frustrating, isn't it?" A female voice asked in amusement and Hiro looked up, meeting Marissa's eyes. The young Hispanic nurse stood before him, wearing white long-sleeved scrubs, which contrasted her dark skin in a most flattering way. Her wavy hair was undone, cascading over her back and shoulders in a waterfall of dark-brown curls tousled by the wind. She was holding a blue garment in her hand as she stood by the bench, looking at him with a strange look shining in her brown eyes. From a sitting position, she seemed very tall, although now that he was finally able to stand on his own two feet, he knew that he was in fact a few inches taller than her. Even so, he found that he still conceived Marissa as the taller one; much like a son would always regard his parents as the figures who had towered above him during childhood.

_ No, stop that! _ The analogy was just  _ wrong _ , almost Oedipal in a sense. Hiro shook his head to get rid of it and returned his attention to the cube. He could still feel her eyes on him and it made him feel very self-conscious. Something changed in the way she's been looking at him lately. It was... upsetting. He felt as though he wasn't picking up on something important, like she was expecting something of him, but due to his ignorance, he was letting her down. He hoped she didn't think that he wasn't working hard enough. He was giving all that he had in him, even though there wasn't much left. He was constantly battling the odds so that he'd be able to do more with each passing day. He wanted her to see that he was  _ trying _ .

He wasn't sure why Marissa's approval mattered so much to him. All he knew was that life would be empty without her. She had taught him comfort, acceptance and understanding... offering him kindness he had never known before. She was all he had now, perhaps all he truly had other than his mere existence. His life used to be his only possession. Once, the breath in his lungs and the blood pumping through his veins were all he had, and still they meant very little to him. Life came cheap. It was as easy to create as it was easy to terminate. There wasn't much value in possessing life, especially the life of someone like him. He had been all but ready to take his own life on so many occasions – whether pointing a gun to his head, or trying to get killed during a mission – but life was persistent. His body fought to survive, even while his heart begged for the peace found in death.

Eventually, he had learned to accept life as another challenge he must meet. The war took him places – introduced him to people – and he had learned that life was more than just an unwanted possession. When the Eve War ended he had made a promise to himself that if circumstances would allow it, he would willingly choose life over death. He had no reservations about dying if his death would be meaningful, necessary and helpful; however, the war was long over. It ended on the same day he finally made the decision to make an effort to live rather than simply exist. As he fired at the burning piece of the Libra station plummeting towards the Earth, he had realize that survival had become a goal rather than a burden. He decided that, while his life might seem cheap to some (himself included), he should nevertheless value it.

Funny thing, out of all people, it was Zechs Merquise – an enemy – who had shown him that he mustn't be so quick to disregard his own life. But it was Duo who had taught him why he shouldn't be so rash about ending his life. It was Duo who had given his life substance, meaning and validity, making it at all possible for Zechs Merquise to talk him out of sacrificing his life on Libra. Because of Duo, he had decided that he should turn something as worthless as his life into a valuable possession.

He came out of that battle alive and even optimistic to a degree. That was a mistake; a terrible, terrible mistake. He had allowed himself to be swept away by the sense of optimism flooding the MO2 satellite. His naivety became his downfall. Life lost its appeal soon afterwards. Still, he struggled to live on. Why? He wasn't sure. He supposed that the lessons Duo had taught him were simply too precious to disregard, even and despite of what happened between them.

Peace was threatened a few times since the fall of Libra, since he had made the choice to value his life, and he had survived those endeavors as well. Or rather,  _ Heero _  had. He was only a remnant of Heero, a mere consequence of Heero's choosing life over death. Death was for The Soldier and life was for what was left of him. Now it was up to him to deal with the aftermath of The Soldier's choice. He knew that the only way to justify his survival was to keep on trying and work harder. It was what everyone would have expected  _ Heero _ , The Soldier, to do. He didn't want people to expect any less of him.

"Is doctor Elin giving you a hard time?" Marissa asked softly as she took a seat on the bench as well, placing the blue garment she was holding in her lap.

Hiro shook his head, to indicate that he was able to handle Elin and his assignments. They were not of the same nature as the assignments he was used to being handed, but they were just as difficult to complete. Two years ago, he would have found them insulting, but he had come to terms with the fact that he wasn't the same person he was two years ago, resigning to his fate as being a stranger even to himself.

"I hate this damn puzzle," Marissa commented, "I can never get it right."

"There's a way," Hiro informed her slowly as he returned his attention to the cube. "But I... I don't remember the ru—ru—rules," he added with a troubled sigh. He couldn't remember many rules, even simple mundane ones, like the order of actions he had to take while brushing his teeth, or shaving his face (he would often smear the shaving cream on his toothbrush and only realize it when the brush was in his mouth!). Sometimes he'd mix the order in which he had to put on his clothes (trying to wear socks over his shoes!), or try to cut his food with the blunt end of the knife instead of the sharp edge of the blade. His condition was so embarrassing. He was aware that he was getting things wrong, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get it right the first time. Sometimes his mind seemed to be working backwards.

"It'll come back to you," Marissa made an empty promise. He didn't want to sadden her, so he nodded in agreement. She was always very nice to him and therefore he tried to be just as pleasant. It was hard to do sometimes. His damaged mind often got the better of him, causing him to often act childishly and foolishly. He knew that, even though he had made much progress in his rehabilitation, he was still far from being healed. He knew that he was still very absent minded at times. It wasn't unusual for him to neglect an activity before finishing it, due to loss of interest, or to act before thinking. Quite often, he would fail to consider the consequences of his actions, much like a child. He would do something stupid like touch a hot surface or climb on a wobbly chair while trying to reach for something he shouldn't. He often lacked judgment or consideration for others. On very rare occasions, he would even throw tantrums when displeased.

Dr. Grabelsky had explained that it wasn't uncommon for brain-damaged patients to sometimes regress to childish behavior. The man assured him that it was just another symptom of his brain injury and that it shall pass with time. It came and went like the changing seasons (he had learned all about seasons a while ago and he knew that winter changed to spring, which changed to summer which changed to autumn, which changed to winter and then all over again. He also learned what kind of sounds all kinds of different animals make, but that was irrelevant at the moment) and since it was Marissa's job to be patient with him, as with others under her care, she hardly ever commented or rebuked his childish traits. Later, when his reason resurfaced, he would feel foolish and regretful of his behavior, sometimes even ashamed. He had apologized to her many times and for numerous mistakes he made. Marissa seemed to forgive him every single time, assuring him that he did not have to apologize to her, but he feared the day when she would become sick and tired of his condition, just like Relena, and leave.

He had thought that he had found a friend in Relena, but she couldn't cope with his condition. She barely lasted three months before leaving him. Marissa has been bearing him for over a year now, but he often wondered if it was simply because it was her job to cope with him. It was a question he didn't truly wish to know the answer to, comforting himself with the benefit of the doubt.

"It's quite cold today," Marissa remarked, undoubtedly trying to make small-talk. She often opened in conversation with him, encouraging him to practice his speech. He always did his best to oblige her, even on days when words seemed to escape him almost completely. Actions that required the use of his higher cognitive skills took him much more than the necessary time to perform. By the time he would process her words and come up with a proper response, Marissa would say something else, mistaking his silence for a lack of interest. He knew that he was slow, but he was trying to make up for it by allowing his face to be more expressive, or gesturing a reply. He wasn't used to expressing himself so animatedly; it was yet another skill he had been forced to learn in order to cope with his condition. However, most of what Marissa said to him required a verbal reply, and that still took time to do. Talking was hard.

Words came easily to Duo. The braided pilot talked  _ all the time _ . It was annoying. He never shut his mouth. All kinds of words used to come out of his relentless mouth: nice words, cruel words, funny words, angry words, hurting words, condemning words, ignorant words— those were the worse. They were innocent mistakes on Duo's part, but they hurt. They hurt so much because it was like Duo knew... but he didn't. Duo didn't know anything. He wanted to keep things that way, so he just kept hurting quietly. The hurt was a good sign; it meant that he still had something inside him that could hurt, something Dr. J never managed to take away from him.

But then things changed. The hurt became too much. J had seen to that, haunting him from the grave. And like a beaten dog he had returned to his master's teachings. Hurting, he had shut Duo out – shut everyone out, really – and ran with this tail tucked between his legs, back to being J's mutt. No more hurt.

Even though the war had been won, he had continued living as a soldier, always on the lookout for the next violent outbreak. An incursion was imminent; it was only a question of when and where. Knowing that, he had slipped comfortably back into the role of a well-oiled fighting machine, leaving the lessons Duo had taught him – both good and bad – behind. Isolated, he was safe. Defeated, but safe. He had been beaten back into obedience, back to being a dog of war always sniffing the air for the next fight. No more hurt.

Until his head exploded. Now he was neither a soldier or a dog. Now he was just... just... just Hiro. Hiro didn't have to be a soldier. Hiro  _ couldn't possibly _  be a soldier; a dog, maybe, but not a soldier. Dogs could be good friends if they weren't forced to hunt, kill and fight. So he could probably be a good friend to Duo. It made perfect sense, right? If he could have, he would have tried to be a good friend to Duo. But Duo took off when the last battle ended. It was his fault, he knew that. He had shut Duo out after... after... but how could he not?

He hated himself for being afraid. The self-loathing only made it harder to be a friend to Duo; it became impossible. He couldn't look Duo in the eye anymore. He tried, but all he could manage was to look straight past him, pretending as though he wasn't really there. Being with Duo again during that last mission had hurt more than he could handle. He never planned on seeing Duo again, but there they were – trying to save the world once more. He did his best to keep his distance and Duo probably took offense. It was no wonder he left to carry on with his life. It was his fault, he knew. He was unable to forget. He wished he could forget. He wished so much for the memories to vanish along with everything else that went away after Wing-ZERO crashed, but this one thing stuck. Everything else was all jumbled up and out of reach, but this one thing stayed. Losing Duo's friendship wasn't enough; remembrance was part of his punishment too.

But why was he thinking about this anyway? Was Marissa still talking? He should have tried harder to remain friends with Duo. He really needed a friend right now... He would laugh at Duo's jokes now... he would. He could laugh now. It was so much easier, when there was something to laugh about. He could cry too... a lot. He cried a lot. He hated that. Would Duo laugh if he saw him cry? Duo was so good to him before... before... back then. No one was ever that good to him. He should have tried harder. It was his fault. Duo never abandoned him;  _ he  _ was the one to abandon Duo. Relena abandoned him. He was really angry about that. He was angry about a lot of things. He had punched Duo – hard. That was their final goodbye. He shouldn't have punched so hard, but he was so angry and there was no way he could let it out because it wasn't fair to be angry with Duo for something he was completely ignorant about, but he was so angry... Was Marissa angry that he wasn't trying hard enough? Was she going to abandon him too? Wait – was she?!

"I guess it won't be long before winter's here," Marissa said and he realized that he had wandered off. It happened all too often. Anything and everything distracted him: a noise, a scent, a memory that suddenly popped into his head. Random thoughts floated in his mind constantly. Like hot dogs. He really hated hot dogs. Their smell made him feel sick. Their aftertaste was terrible when he burped. Why were they called  _ hot dogs  _ in the first place? That was disgusting. Dogs were there so one could love them or train them to kill. Not  _ eat _  them! There was this one dog they called Sausage Dog because of its long narrow build, like a hot dog. But it wasn't for eating! He'd like to have a dog one day. He liked dogs; real dogs, not the ones like he used to be. Real dogs were nice. The one he used to be wasn't nice at all.

"Did you finish reading that book I recommended?" Marissa changed the subject and Hiro blinked, realizing he had wandered off again, caught in an endless chain of useless associations. He hated when that happened; just like he hated hot dogs. He didn't hate dogs, though. Dogs were nice. The real ones, that is.

"I just finished reading another one you might like," Marissa added before he had a chance to formulate a proper reply; he was too distracted. He turned to look at her and shrugged, wishing to show that he was listening to her even though he wasn't saying anything. She smiled at him, perhaps telling him that it was alright that he didn't reply verbally. He could hardly ever interpret the meaning behind her smiles and lately she's been smiling at him differently, which was even more confusing. He hoped the change in her smiles didn't mean that they were now faked. He'd hate himself even more if he knew she was only pretending to smile at him out of pity or obligation, like Relena had. If that was the case, then he'd rather she'd never smile at him at all.

Duo used to smile at him carelessly. He was the only person to ever act so freely around him, always playing the fool. No,  _ he _  was the foolish one, not Duo. The Soldier had been fooled by smiles. Friendship; it was redundant. That was what J always said. He hated J, but he always did what J said. It was how things worked. A dog and its master... but he didn't have to be a dog anymore. J was dead and he no longer had a master; he was free. That was why he had promised to forgive Duo. That was why he had promised to forget. But he could never forget. Not ever. It hurt too much. He wished he could forget. He wished he could forget like Duo had and then they could be friends again. He could really use a friend right now... What was Marissa saying?

"I made you something," the young Latin woman said with a smile. She held the blue garment which had been resting over her lap. He had seen the blue garment before; she has been knitting it for the past few weeks, during the evenings she spent keeping him company in his room. He never asked who the garment was for, never even considering that it might be for him.

"Consider it an early Christmas present," she said as she unfolded the garment before him, holding it up so he could have a good look at it. It was a blue wool sweater, plain and well knitted. He stared at it, stupefied.

"Don't worry!" she laughed; "This means you still get another present on Christmas Day," she explained with a smile and he frowned, because he wasn't worried about that at all. He never got presents on Christmas, so why should he be worried if he gets one now or later?

She handed him the sweater and he realized that he should raise his hands to accept it. The movement had to be a conscious and well-controlled decision; otherwise, his arms would never cooperate. He often had to mentally tell himself when and how to make a move. His body had long forgotten about the quick reflexes The Soldier had possessed. Chances were that if someone were to sneak up on him from behind the bushes, it would take him so long to realize it and even longer to react and retaliate, that the assailant would probably have more than enough time to smoke a damn cigarette before killing him. Bah.  _ Cigarettes. _ He hated cigarettes!

Odin used to smoke a lot, but never during missions. Their safe-houses always reeked of cigarettes. He hated cigarettes. Odin used to stub-out burning butts on his flesh, blistering his skin, thinking the pain was punishment or torture for him, but it didn't hurt all that much. Nothing physical never really hurt that much, because inside there was even greater pain. He was really little when Odin took him in and he remembered that day because everything hurt so much the day his mother died.

Yes, she died.

BOOM!

Just like that.

He remembered that too. The flames swallowed her as the vacuum of space sucked her out of the airlock. It was so hot, it burnt his skin too. Like cigarettes. His mother's death hurt like cigarette burns and ever since then nothing hurt all that much.

Odin killed people for a living (that was a funny thing to say, right? Duo would have thought so...). He took him in and they pretended to be father and son on Odin's missions. Even as a child he had to admit that their resemblance was uncanny. People easily bought into the idea that they were related. Sometimes, he liked to play along with the fantasy and pretend that he had a father, someone who cared for him as much as he wanted to be cared for. But to the best of his knowledge, Odin wasn't his real father and he wasn't any good at being a pretend one either. It didn't stop him from loving the man, though. Stupid, right? To love someone who hurt you. He loved Duo too, even though he shouldn't. Even though it hurt. He loved Duo for being a friend, his only real friend, and he had loved Odin just for being there. He had spent every waking hour with him as a child; there was no one else to love. So yes, he had loved the man who forced him to kill if he ever wanted to see food on his plate or  _ else _ . He dreaded the  _ "else _ ". That was why he had killed for the man, soiling his hands with strangers' blood. He lived drenched in blood and filth, suffocating under a thick cloud of Odin's cigarette smoke.

Between missions, when he wasn't pretending to be his father, Odin drank a lot of vodka, cussed loudly in Russian and stubbed out cigarettes on his arms and legs if he didn't do as he was told. He tried to do everything Odin asked him to, he really wanted the man to be pleased with him, but sometimes Odin asked for impossible things he simply couldn't do – like bring his mother back – so he was punished. He never understood why Odin wanted him to bring her back, because he was the only one who was supposed to care about his mother [ [1] ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2902643/chapters/7750190#_ftn1) . When he asked the man about it, he was beaten so badly that he couldn't walk for a week. Odin actually made him  _ crawl _ . Like a dog. He was Odin's dog way before he was J's mutt.

_ Sobaka; _  that was what Odin called him.  _ "Sobaka" _ was Russian for  _ "dog" _ ; it was the first Russian word he had learned from Odin. The man spoke perfect English – the language he was most accustomed to as a child – but he nearly always spoke to him in Russian. Even in his young age he had understood that the man did it just to spite him, just to make things harder for him. As if being orphaned, learning how to take another man's life and being treated like a dog picked off the street hadn't been hard enough. He hated being a dog, but sometimes he would get so hungry for affection he pretended that being a dog was a good thing; that being Odin's sobaka meant that he was loved by him.

However, on most days, he wished for nothing more but the man's brutal death. In a twist of bitter irony, when the man finally did die during a mission, he felt devastated. Dr. Naveen, his therapist at the ward, said that it was a natural response. He didn't really want to tell Naveen about being Odin's dog, but for some reason the man managed to get it out of him. Therapy was kind of like being interrogated by the enemy, only someone was interrogating your soul. Naveen had a way of getting him to talk and once he started, he couldn't stop. Maybe deep down he wanted to talk, to finally let some of it out. It wasn't easy, but once the words were out of his mouth he felt a bit better.

Naveen explained that it wasn't uncommon for children to become strongly attached to abusive parents. But the thing was that he was never really Odin's child – he was his  _ dog _ . Odin hardly ever treated him as anything else.

"I was his dog," Hiro corrected harshly, addressing Dr. Naveen. It took him a second to realize that he wasn't sitting in Naveen's therapy room. He was outside, on the bench, with Marissa. The young woman was still holding the sweater she had knitted in front of him. Confused by his words, she put it down.

"Hiro?" she asked worriedly; "Are you okay? Were you jumping?"

_ "Jumping" _  was when he thought he was someplace else, in some other time.

"No," he mumbled a lie and looked away, embarrassed. Besides, he was never a dog,  _ Heero  _ was – a dog of war – but he wasn't  _ Heero _  anymore, so he didn't have to be anyone's  _ dog. _  Dr. Naveen asked him if he still felt like a dog and he had said "no" (because he wasn't a soldier anymore), but he was still afraid of becoming a dog again. Naveen promised that he wouldn't, but he was still afraid that it might happen anyway. Naveen said that time will prove him wrong. He didn't understand what that meant because to him time was only something that indicated that he was expected to perform some task. He didn't understand how  _ time _  could heal anything, but everybody kept saying that it could, so maybe they knew better. Nowadays, everyone seemed to know better.

Then again, people also believed in some other-worldly entity that guided and protected them from its place up in the heavens and he knew that it was absurd, because he had toured the heavens of both Earth and space and had encountered only mortals who chose whether to do right or wrong without any celestial guidance. So why should he believe what they said about time? How could they know? Was that the thing Marissa called "faith"? Was that what Marissa was expecting of him – to place his faith in time as well as in her God? Oh no! Marissa! She was still waiting for him to accept her gift!

Finally, he turned to take the sweater from the young nurse.

"Th-thank you," he whispered guiltily, knowing that he had kept her waiting. He placed the blue sweater on his lap so he would remember to take it back with him later (he was aware of how forgetful he was).

Marissa smiled at him and he knew that he had said the correct word when thanking her (he had almost thanked her in Russian, because he had been thinking of Odin. He never thanked Odin for anything, but he used to beg him a lot. He wished he could stop thinking about it already!). Sometimes he meant to say one thing, but his lips would form an entirely different word. Such occasions were becoming very rare, thanks to many weekly hours of speech therapy, but he still feared that the words coming out of his mouth didn't hold the same meaning to others as they did to him. The feeling of being misunderstood hurt him; it reminded him too much of Odin (stop thinking about him!).

A chilly breeze rushed past them both, tousling Marissa's long curly hair. Hiro shuddered, feeling cold. Cold was good; at least his skin didn't feel like it was on fire anymore  _ (it burned so much when he flew ZERO into the atmosphere to destroy that falling piece of Libra. He was being burned alive!) _ . Shit, it burned. He was on fire. His mind played tricks on him sometimes _ (ZERO's consoles were beeping crazily, shrieking in his ears) _ . It was too hot  _ (he was suffocating! He had to get out! He had to get out of that cockpit! It was too hot to breathe!) _ . Things he thought about would suddenly feel real, smoldering and painful, often reducing him to tears  _ (the canopy wouldn't budge! It was fused shut! Let me out! He wanted to scream, but there was no more air in his lungs...) _ . It was so hot. Not really, but he felt like he was on fire again. He shivered and wrapped his arms around himself, rubbing his arms up and down. His skin sizzled. He was going to pass out...

"It's going to rain, we should go back inside," Marissa said, clearly anxious by his sudden shivering. She touched his arm gently, and he snapped back to the here and now. The burning ceased. He stopped hugging himself and moved his arms down slowly. He realized that he was outside, in the cold, and he could breathe again. Marissa was looking at him worriedly. He didn't like it when she mothered him, even if it was part of her job. He preferred it when she challenged him and pushed him to achieve more than he thought he was capable of doing. He liked it when she dared him into taking action and performing tasks he usually told himself he was unable to do. He didn't like the days she felt overprotective of him simply because his mind kept wandering where it shouldn't, or if he'd been crying because of the vivid nightmares (was it okay to call them "daymares" if they happened while he was awake? He'll have to ask Dr. Malone, his speech therapist, just to make sure).

He hated nightmares. It was a stupid price to pay for having a conscience. J didn't want him to have a conscience. J didn't want him to have anything at all. He hated J. He hated him even more than hot dogs  _ or _ cigarettes. He hated it when he cried. He hated having to cry in front of Marissa. He hated not being able to control his own tears, his own pain and sorrow in front of others, especially her. He wanted her to think that he was still strong; he wanted her to know that he could still  _ do _  things. He wanted to do those things for her, just so she'd know. Instead, all he did was cry when things got too much, when nasty thoughts and nightmares, memories of Odin, J or Duo would suddenly sneak up behind him and leap out from the shadows without warning.

In the past he had been capable of suppressing the pain, to drown the anguish so deep in his heart that he could almost convince himself that he no longer felt it. That was how J liked things, when he didn't feel anything at all. But ever since the head injury, everything he felt was ten times stronger, every emotion amplified to the point of being unbearable. Psychotherapy was gradually teaching him to control his feelings again, and prescribed medication made certain that he no longer burst into tears over every little thing. But the price he had to pay was great. He didn't feel like himself; he didn't know who he was anymore.  _ Hiro _  was still a stranger to him; a stranger he was slowly learning to accept. Perhaps there was some truth in what people said about time healing in a sense that you get used to living the way you do. You accept the present as a constant, stretching into the past and the future at once. There were days in which he felt as though he had never been anyone else but the person he was now. Memories hazed into a vague and distant dream. Sometimes he thought that the life of Heero Yuy was nothing but a blurry nightmare (daymare?)...

"How about it?" Marissa tried to gain his attention again. "Should we go back inside, where it's warm?"

"I want... to stay," he said slowly, hoping she won't require an explanation. He was too tired to think of one after concentrating on the Rubik's Cube for so long. His mind reeled with useless thoughts. He thought about stars, about flying through the endless black of space. ZERO barely made the trip back to Earth after that last battle. Duo joked about how  _ "that bird is totally fried, man!" _  He had nearly fried with it, but he didn't. Duo saved him. He got him out of the locked cockpit and he could breathe again. He could always count on Duo to do those things for him, until he couldn't anymore. It wasn't allowed.

He remembered sleeping under the stars after leaving the MO2 satellite. He remembered crying... It had rained then too. He had landed somewhere secluded on Earth. It was a forest clearing, somewhere along the western coast of Britain. He felt ill, fatigued and mainly violated; betrayed and hurt in a way he had never even imagined possible before. Emotions he hadn't felt since his time with Odin flooded him all at once: He felt small. Afraid. _  Filthy. _  Duo made him so filthy...

He'd been tainted ever since he could remember himself. His hands were soiled with metaphorical blood, but he had never felt as filthy as he had after MO2. Nothing could possibly cleanse all of the unwanted filth that had penetrated him so violently that night. It was a brutal invasion and it had cut him deep, deeper than he had ever thought possible. Drowning in this terrible filth, he had cried. Yes, he had cried under the stars, lying on the cold wet grass, watching pieces of the fallen Libra station glow in the night sky as they grazed the Earth's atmosphere like shooting stars. The tears did very little to rinse the filth. Helpless, he had sobbed brokenly as he watched the stars blur above. Warm tears streamed down his cold face as he had wept sorrowfully, hugging his own trembling body.

Broken; he had been broken. Duo broke him and now he couldn't be fixed. The filth filled him, burning, suffocating, _  smoldering _ . It had hurt him someplace he had never been touched before. That pain was worse than cigarette burns, worse than any torture or even death. He had cried openly that night, shedding his shameful tears freely. He recalled how strange his hoarse voice sounded even to his own ears; he hadn't heard himself sobbing so loudly since early childhood. His anguished cries tore through the nightly silence, their sound alien... blasphemous.

Humiliated, he had clamped his mouth shut with two hands, even though he had been alone. He had pressed his hands hard over his mouth, his chest quaking violently as his sobs refused to subside. He watched the skies through blurry, tearful eyes, gazing numbly at the artificial meteor shower up above. The Wing-ZERO Gundam was his only companion on that horrible night. It had towered over him from behind, crouching down with its head bowed, watching him with dead unlit eyes.

"Are you sure?" Marissa asked and her voice tore him away from the painful memory. He shivered, distressed. Thinking of the filth made him feel like retching. He coughed, fighting off the persistent bile. Thoughts of Duo always did this to him. They raised the filth to an unbearable level. If he happened to think of Duo in the middle of a meal, he lost his appetite. If he tried to eat with  _ those _  memories on his mind, he ended up vomiting. It had already happened more than once and Marissa was the unfortunate one who had to clean up after him. Duo made him so damn filthy and she always ended up having to wipe his mess.

Hoping to find an anchor or else he'd drift away and drown in the slimy grime, Hiro turned to gaze at Marissa. He stared at her lengthily; his eyes glazed-over and numb. He tried not to think. He wished he could just stop thinking!

Marissa waited patiently for him to say something. Realizing that she was expecting an explanation as to why he wanted to remain outside, Hiro nodded slowly, just to stall while he thought of one. He knew why he couldn't bear to be inside anymore, but he wasn't sure how to phrase it so that she'd understand. Did she know about how Odin used to lock him up in a dark closet? How J used to trap him in a sensory deprivation chamber for days as a form of punishment and discipline? Did she know how he felt as though he was dead when he was put into that chamber? Did she know how many weeks he had spent being imprisoned by the enemy? Did she know what it felt like to be somewhere dark, cold and solitary? Did she know how much nicer the Earth was compared to space? How much he liked being outside, where he saw the skies, where he saw greenery and life?

He felt better outside, where it was easier to breathe. It was always so stuffy inside Wing's cockpit. ZERO's was a bit roomier, but being in that cockpit meant giving up his sanity. That devious machine would take complete control over him, the computer tapping into his mind, pumping it with impossible amounts of tactical information. Then, once the battle was over, the flood would recede and he would scream, tormented, as his mind was returned to him... pain and anguish hitting him all at once. It felt like he was reliving every beating he had ever been subjected to. Sometimes the pain of re-acknowledging himself was so overwhelming that he had vomited, sobbing dryly and retching at the same time. He would scream inside that cockpit, crying tearlessly at the walls around him. Walls were the only witnesses to his pain, the only companions he could ever confide in. Walls used to be his only friends. They were terrible friends, though. He hated walls. He hated ZERO. The damn Gundam had borne silent witness to his pain but never once offered any comfort. It was just a machine, after all. It was just another  _ wall _ .

"There are... too many... walls... standing there," he told Marissa, frowning in concentration as his lips formed the words carefully. He hoped his explanation made sense, because he didn't know how else to say it.Besides, he couldn't go back inside yet. He still hasn't finished putting all the blues on one side and all the reds on the other side.

He will never finish his assignment in time for tomorrow! He wondered if Dr. Elin would get mad at him for failing. The thought stirred a deep sense of fear in him and he shuddered, frightened. It was in his experience that doctors in white coats did not approve of his failures. J never took his faults lightly. He was never allowed to have faults. He was never forgiven for his shortcomings. That was why Duo had done...  _ that _ . It was his fault, not Duo's. It was his fault for having weaknesses, his fault for caring so much when caring wasn't allowed. He was never truly J's  _ "Perfect Soldier".  _ J wanted him to be perfect, but he had failed. If there was one thing ZERO had taught him about himself, it was that he was far from perfect. He had failed, so J had punished him. He has never failed Dr. Elin before and he feared finding out how the man would react to his inability to solve the Rubik's Cube puzzle.

"I haffta finish," he muffled urgently and his fingers fidgeted around the cube, shaking but still struggling to rotate it.

"Hiro," he heard the concern in Marissa's voice and it only made him more anxious. He didn't mean to upset her. He knew that if he'd cause her anguish she would leave him too.

"I... I'll finish it first," he promised, rotating the cube back and forth, trembling with anxiety. "I... I'll finish and then go. Promise." He was speaking like a child again, wasn't he? He hoped she didn't notice. He hoped she won't stub out a cigarette on him. Marissa didn't smoke, so it didn't make any sense, but still he hoped she wouldn't. That would hurt. He was tired of hurting. Relena was never going to visit him, was she? She only liked  _ Heero _ . But Heero was gone. It wasn't his real name anyway, so it didn't matter. Odin used to call him a sobaka, and that felt more like his name. He used to call Duo "sobaka" when he felt annoyed with him, which happened all too often. Duo had a knack for getting under his skin, digging in deep until he reached something raw, vulnerable and bleeding; something fragile and hurting... a part of him J hadn't crushed yet. Duo had crushed it instead. He had dragged it up to the surface, beaten it to a pulp and just left it there in the open to bleed...

Maybe what Duo had dug up that day was actually who he was now... maybe that bleeding something was  _ Hiro? _  That was who he was now, right? He was Hiro. He was bleeding inside, all over... He was Hiro. Maybe deep down he'd always been Hiro. So would Duo like him the way he is now? Did he even like him before? It didn't matter now, did it? His friendship with Duo, his only true friendship with anyone...that was over; they could never be friends again.

_ Glupaya sobaka _ ; he was such a stupid dog. The both of them were. Stupid, stupid dogs...

For some reason Duo thought that being called a dog was a positive nickname. He never bothered to correct him. Duo used to follow him around like a loyal dog anyway. Dogs – the real ones – they were nice; they were dependable. Marissa would call them faithful. Duo was like that, once. Duo was good to him. Duo was his friend. People called dogs their best friends, but they still ate hot dogs. That didn't make any sense. He wished Dr. Grabelsky would let him get a dog. He had killed a dog once, a puppy. He had killed a lot of people. It would be nice to have his own dog so he could take it along with him for a walk around the garden. He would play with his dog too. He recalled playing with a couple of dogs back during the war, after escaping with Quatre from the moon base. He played with them on the beach. They were vicious guard dogs, but they were nice to him. They enjoyed playing. Dogs couldn't be like ruthless soldiers because they liked people too much. They were nice. He really wanted to have a dog; it would be his new best friend.

But if he failed completing his assignment, he could forget all about having a dog. Dr. Elin would be _ very _ angry with him. Would he stub out a cigarette on him for being bad? Because Dr. Elin smoked! Oh no!

Hiro gasped, panicked. He felt his skin sizzle painfully once again, burning. He didn't want the man to hurt him! He'll be a good boy... a good dog! Promise!

"I'll be good!" he cried out, jumping to his feet in a surge of terror.

"Hiro!" Marissa called and stood up too, grabbing his arm. He whirled around to face her, his eyes wide, afraid. She held his hand tightly, looking at him with this wretched expression like she was feeling sorry for him. He wished everyone would stop feeling sorry for him!

"Hiro, are you okay?" Marissa whispered worriedly, inching closer to him and he reacted by pulling back. He didn't like when people came close to him like that. Duo got close once and it had ended badly. It was better if no one came close ever again. He wanted a dog for a friend! He didn't want a friend who would hurt him again. He didn't want that pain again. It hurt. Oh – it hurt so much! He didn't know his body—no, his  _ soul _  – could hurt so badly. He never knew true pain before Duo had shown it to him. He didn't even know he had a soul before Duo had torn it apart. Why did Duo have to hurt him so much? Why didn't he stop even when he had begged him to – why! What kind of a friend was he if he couldn't fight against it?! Why didn't Duo fight for them?

No, that wasn't fair. It wasn't Duo's fault. Hiro sighed, his shoulders slumping down tiredly. He settled back on the bench, exhausted. His head hurt so much and he was so tired... He rubbed his palms against his face and closed his eyes, trying to calm the swirling storms raging in his head. He was vaguely aware of Marissa sitting back down next to him. She was watching him worriedly.

"Are you thinking about him?" she asked carefully. She didn't say Duo's name because he told her not to –  _ ever! _  – but he knew she meant Duo. She was so good to him. He hated how much he relied on her. Connecting with another human-being was dangerous; it dictated hurt and only made room for heartbreak. Relying on Marissa was a risk, but what else could he do? Alone he was powerless. Alone he was afraid. Being alone made him vulnerable. It made him think of Duo, it made him long for a friendship forever lost. He couldn't afford loneliness. He would rather fear the consequences of another friendship than to fear the dark chasm of loneliness... where memories of Duo awaited.

Marissa placed a hand on his shoulder and he felt how strongly he was shaking. Shame filled him, twisting his gut painfully. He shouldn't tremble like some frightened animal. All he had to do was complete the assignment and then there won't be a reason to fear consequence and punishment. He just needed a little more time. He couldn't do things as quickly and efficiently as before. He just needed more time... How much time would it be before he could stop thinking about Duo?

"Hiro, you're shaking," she said softly, squeezing his shoulder gently. "Please, it's cold, let's go back inside."

"No," he insisted, shrugging her hand off his shoulder violently. He picked up the Rubik's Cube from the bench. "I promised Doctor Elin. I haffta finish first."

"Finish it inside," she implored him.

"No!" he snapped petulantly. "I don't want to go inside! The walls are there! Stop talking! I haffta finish this!"

"Fine!" she snapped back and stood up quickly. Hiro felt his heart sink painfully as though crashing down his ribcage. This was it. She was fed up with him. She was going to leave him now. Everyone leaves him, so why should she be any different?

Marissa snatched the blue sweater from his lap and he jerked his head up to look at her, his eyes widening dreadfully. She was taking back the present. It was his first present ever, and she was taking it back. That hurt. He felt like crying, but he tried not to. He didn't want to cry now... he had to show her that he was strong. The tears welled in his eyes anyway. It hurt too much and he was scared. A sense of dreadful finality settled heavily over his heart. She really was going to leave. She was probably furious that she had worked so hard to knit a sweater for him, wasting her time on him when he wasn't even worth it. He was very sorry for that...

More hot tears flooded his eyes and he struggled to prevent them from spilling. He didn't want her to mistake his tears for some form of extortion, mistaking his sorrow for a manipulative attempt to make her stay. He only cried when he was truly sad. He couldn't control it. He never meant to use his tears to make people feel sorry for him. He resented pity, but he also accepted the fact that people now saw him as someone to feel sorry for. Marissa was different though. He respected her for never acting out of pity and never cutting him slack when he thought he was unable to do one thing or another. It was only because of her that he had been able to make so much progress.

What would he do once she left him? Who else could he turn to? He had no one. He didn't wish to be alone... it was so hard; everything was so much harder now that The Soldier was gone. He didn't want to be abandoned again; it hurt too much. Like the day his mother died – BOOM! – just like that. It hurt like watching mommy die.

His tears overflowed, streaming freely down his cheeks. He missed his mother. He missed having someone who cared for him, even though she hardly ever showed she did. Mommy was always away, always busy, always forgetting he existed even if he was standing right in front of her. She didn't have time to love him, but he still loved her... so much. He missed her when she was away. He never knew if she was going to come back home. Then she died and he missed her even more. And he missed Duo too. Duo could always see him, even when he didn't wish to be seen. Duo cared, even if he resented that care. Duo used to look out for him, take care of him if needed, and he had learned to appreciate that... more than he could ever say. They were friends, but their friendship was a mistake; a terrible, terrible mistake. So he thought that maybe Relena would accepted him as a friend, but all she wanted was to have him as her pet. He wasn't a very useful dog anymore, so she left him. He thought perhaps Marissa cared, but now it seemed like he was wrong. She was going to leave him because now more than ever he was unworthy of friendship. He was pathetic: pitiable, useless... a burden. No one wants a burden.

He closed his eyes and more tears overflowed, streaming freely down his cheeks. He whimpered quietly, succumbed by self-pity. He wanted to ask Marissa not to leave him. He wanted to plead with her to stay, but the words refused to pass the threshold of his lips. Never again. His mouth refused to form another broken plea ever again. Begging Duo had been enough. He will never beg again. Instead Hiro wept brokenly, pathetic little sobs coming out of his mouth irrepressibly. He felt torn between his desperate need to beg Marissa to stay and his deep fear of her refusal and abhor. Every cell in his body wanted to reach out for her, but the barrier was unbreakable. He couldn't.

"If we're going to stay out here in the cold," he heard Marissa say, ignoring his tears as she usually did that when she figured that he was crying unintentionally; "Then at least put this on," she muttered and leaned over him like a mother leaning over her child, sliding the blue sweater over his head. She nudged his arm a bit, signaling him to raise it. Stunned, he did as she asked, raising his arms up and allowing her to complete putting the sweater on him. Tears no longer welled in his eyes, but the last of them were still sliding slowly down his cheeks as he gazed up at her dumbly, confused.

"Here," Marissa said with a smile once she was done dressing him. She reached a gentle finger to wipe the last of his tears away. "You stopped shaking. Feeling warmer?"

He was still quite shaken, but he managed to nod his head slowly. Marissa smiled in approval. She took a seat on the bench again, but not as close as before, giving him some much needed space. Hiro looked at her, still confused. She wasn't leaving him?

"You've been cooped up in this hospital for too long," Marissa spoke in a slow, pensive voice while staring ahead at the garden. "You've been here for nearly two years and you've never even seen the outside of the ward."

No, it didn't look like she was planning on leaving, Hiro realized. Perhaps she was asking  _ him _  to leave?

"I can't... yet," he tried to explain. He couldn't fend for himself out there, not yet. Didn't she know that? Where would he go if she told him to leave the ward? There was nowhere to go. Besides, he liked the ward. Dr. Grabelsky was very supportive and Dr. Naveen never judged him when he spoke about his past as a dog, the man was quite helpful actually. Dr. Elin was very nice too, so it was very foolish of him to think that he would hurt him if he didn't solve the Rubik's Cube puzzle in time. Dr. Elin wasn't like J at all. He was a nice Russian-man who worked very hard to help him relearn the skills he had lost. He liked Dr. Elin because the man still understood him even when he momentarily forgot English words and relapsed to the Russian language he was forced to speak as a child. He really wanted to stay at the ward, where he was comfortable, where he was understood. No one would be so forgiving towards him in the outside world. It was alright to fail in the ward, but out there... out there failure was unacceptable.

"I can't... can't leave here," he whispered shakily, his eyes begging her to understand.

"Sure you can," Marissa insisted and he didn't know what he could say to convince her otherwise. If she truly wanted him to leave the ward, what could he do about it? He was powerless without The Soldier... He didn't know what to say to make her let him stay.

"I think... maybe... it's better if I... I should stay," he mumbled hesitantly, hoping she'd reconsider. "There's nothing... there," he struggled to explain himself better, trying to tell her that he had nothing waiting for him outside of the ward. No one would want him around and he still needed people to help him. He was invalid, crippled and useless to society. He could barely talk and he sounded like a retard. No one wants a  _ retard _ around. He couldn't even walk on his own. Would she let him keep his walker?

"Let me stay," he pleaded, hating himself for being so needy. The Soldier was never  _ needy _ ; he always did what had to be done without complaining like a child. Consequences were never his concern.  _ Hiro _ was needy though. It was no wonder Marissa was sick of taking care of him. That was why Relena had left, wasn't it? That was why Duo decided that he should be alone. Asking for Duo's friendship was  _ needy _ . It was the worst mistake The Soldier had  _ ever _  made. It was no wonder he was punished so severely for it. Soldiers should never be  _ needy _ .

"C'mon, Hiro, don't be like that. You should be able to leave if you wanted to. It's okay."

He didn't want to leave! But... but if she really wanted him gone, he understood.

"Can I... take the walker?" he asked, hoping she would at least agree to that. He won't be able to leave on his own two feet otherwise. She won't make him  _ crawl  _ like Odin did, would she?

Tears of hurt and humiliation flooded his eyes. He didn't want her to force him to crawl like a dog! Not again! Please! He was sobbing now, frightened and ashamed. He bowed his head down, hiding his face behind his long bangs, and cried miserably. He didn't want her to watch him crawl away...

"Hiro... please don't cry," Marissa pleaded softly. He felt her wrap a warm hand around him, pulling him closer.

"Of course you can take the walker," she soothed, rocking him gently. She reached for her pocket to take out a tissue. Raising his head up gently by his chin, she wiped his runny nose and then smiled at him softly. He stared at her, stupefied. She just smiled and tapped the tissue lightly against his face to absorb the tears still streaking his cheeks.

"I just want us to go for a walk," she explained and Hiro gaped at her, dumbfounded.

"A w-walk?" he stuttered anxiously. Now he just felt worse. Did Marissa think he was a dog too? Is that why she wanted to take him out for a walk? Odin used to take him out for walks and then laugh as he forced him to relieve himself outside, like a dog. If he refused, Odin left him out in the cold until he absolutely  _ had _  to go, but then it was too late because Odin wouldn't let him back inside again. Sometimes it rained and he cried for Odin to let him back in. Then Odin hurt him for wailing like a stranded puppy.

No; he didn't like walks. He wanted to stay at the ward.

"Yes, why not?" she confirmed; "the exercise will do us both good. C'mon, I'll show you around. It's about time you saw something beyond the confines of this hospital. We can go to the park, that way, you'll get to stay outside, okay?"

"Outside?" he repeated nervously; "But I... I don't wanna..." he tried to object, hoping she won't get mad like Odin had. People walked their dogs in the park... he didn't want people to see Marissa walking him like Odin had! 

"No, not the park," he pleaded wretchedly. "Please not... not the pa-pa-park!"

"Alright," she hurried to assure him, smiling apprehensively; "There's a shopping center not too far away. We'll go there instead. C'mon, we'll have some coffee – my treat."

He gasped, pulling away quickly. A treat?! Only dogs got  _ treats _ ! But he hadn't done anything to deserve a treat. Why was she offering him one? He didn't want a treat! Odin used to promise him treats, but he never kept his promise! One time he had promised him a treat, but he had beaten him up instead. He had said that the  _ treat _ was not killing him and only hitting him for what he had done. He didn't mean to be a bad dog; he didn't mean to fail the mission. He fell from a tree while keeping watch and broke his leg and Odin got so mad... He was a bad dog. A bad  _ bad _  dog! He didn't deserve any treats!

"I...n- no. No treat," he murmured shakily. "It's I... I-I-I... can't... I'm not that... good."

"Oh please, Hiro, you can walk just fine!" Marissa still insisted. She didn't understand what he was trying to say, but he forgave her for it. He hardly understood it himself, but... he wasn't a dog anymore, was he? He'd rather stay the inferior  _ Hiro _  than return to being Odin's sobaka. Marissa knew he wasn't a dog, right? She knew that he was  _ Hiro _  now. She wanted them to take a walk together, right? Not to leave him out in the rain. That made more sense, yes.

"I can... go with... you?" He asked just to make sure.

"Of course! I'll clear it up with Doctor Grabelsky. I'm sure he'd approve."

Hiro made no move to get up from the bench. He needed to think things over, which was very hard to do with that stupid Humpty Dumpty song playing in the back of his head. He remembered one night Duo wanted to annoy him so he sang that nursery rhyme over and over again, loudly and obnoxiously:

_ "Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall! _

_ Humpty Dumpty had a great fall! _

_ All the king's soldiers and all the king's men! _

_ Couldn't put Humpty together again!" _

And again!

_ "Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall! _

_ Humpty Dumpty had a great fall! _

_ All the king's soldiers and all the king's men! _

_ Couldn't put Humpty together again!" _

Stop it!

And aga~in! C'mon, Heero, sing along!

_ "Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall! _

_ Humpty Dumpty had a great fall! _

_ All the king's soldiers and all the king's men! _

_ Couldn't put Humpty together again!" _

Stop! Stop it! Duo! You annoying sobaka!  _ I'll fucking kill you if you don't shut the hell up! _

And Duo laughed.

Duo  _ really _  liked to annoy him. He liked music too; loud and violent, bombarding their small dormitory. No, wait. It shouldn't matter what Duo liked. They were no longer friends. They could never be friends again. That would be bad, Duo had said. Duo had warned him that it would be very, very bad. Bad dog!

"Come on, Hiro. You just might enjoy it," Marissa was still asking him to join her and Hiro felt real bad for making her beg. He knew how much it hurt to beg. He was a very disobedient dog. That was why Odin punished him so often. That was why J punished him for wanting Duo as a friend.

"I'd really enjoy your company," Marissa tried to convince him to join her for a walk and a treat; "We can have pancakes for lunch. You'd like that, won't you?"

Hiro struggled to rationalize what was being said to him, but logic and deduction were beyond him at the moment. He stared thoughtfully at the grass, struggling to make sense of the world: Marissa wanted to take a walk with him. She didn't mean the kind of walk you take a dog on, because she promised him pancakes. He did like pancakes, so... she didn't think he was a bad dog? Dogs were nice, weren't they? Soldiers were bad, but dogs were nice.

He told Naveen that he wasn't a dog anymore. He was  _ Hiro _ . He might be needy, pathetic, shameless, incompetent, and weak; flawed, tainted, and obsolete – but definitely  _ not _  a dog, or a soldier, anymore. Marissa never knew The Soldier;  _ Hiro _  was the only version of him she knew. She was fond of him... and he enjoyed that. He liked that she approved of the way he was now. He felt safe to depend on her, to rely on her friendship.

Marissa liked him, didn't she? That was why she smiled at him strangely. That was why she looked at him differently, unlike any other person at the ward. That was why she wanted to take a walk with him; a real walk, like he had seen other men and women take in the park when he was a boy. They were couples, walking together hand in hand. Would she let him hold her hand? Does that make them a couple?

He turned to face Marissa, unsure.

"It's a... real... walk, right?" He asked and she frowned because it was a silly question. Still, his eyes shone with doubt as he waited for her confirmation that she won't walk him like a dog. He needed to hear her say it, so he'd know for sure. Sometimes he misunderstood things, so he needed her to say it clearly.

Marissa offered him a warm and reassuring smile. "Of course – what else?" she laughed; "You can handle it, don't worry," she encouraged and stood up. She walked over to his walker and tapped on it playfully. "C'mon, don't be so coy. We'll take it slow. It will do you good, build up your confidence."

Hiro gazed at his walker pensively, a struggle waging in his eyes. She seemed to have his best interest in mind, just like always. He should oblige her, even if a walk would be hard, even if it would make him feel like he did back then. He had handled much hardship before so he could handle it again. He would do anything for her, just like he did for Odin. He would do anything to please them, so that they won't leave him like his mother had—BOOM! – just like that. Then—BANG! – a shot took Odin away too. Duo took off and so did Relena, so now he had Marissa. He had to please her or she'd leave him too.

"I can do better," he promised and she smiled.

"I know you can," she said softly, "I have faith in you."

That was strange, because he thought her faith belonged to her God. Why would she give her faith to him? People used to believe in who he was, in The Soldier, but he wasn't that person anymore. Why would anyone believe in him the way he was now? Marissa was starting to confuse him again. He didn't know how to respond to her statement, so he looked away, embarrassed.

"Tell you what," Marissa spoke up again, quite cheerfully and he hoped she wasn't putting a happy face on just for him. "I'll go talk to Grabelsky and then change, so no one would think you're walking around with a  _ private nurse _ , alright? I'll meet you at the nurses' station in ten minutes, okay?"

He nodded slowly, though uncertainty was clear on his pale features. Marissa smiled at him. He tried to smile back, but failed. It felt as though his face was cracking; he wasn't used to smiling. She seemed to appreciate his effort though, because she leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. It was just a soft pressing of her lips against his skin. She usually kissed him when she wanted to make him feel better, comforting him when he was crying, but this time the kiss felt different. It lasted a bit longer than usual. He could count at least ten of his heartbeats while her warm lips remained pressed to his forehead. He felt her hot breath brush against his face. She smelled sweet. He closed his eyes, breathing it in. He liked her familiar scent.

Marissa pulled back slowly. Hiro sensed that she was expecting him to smile for real now, but he didn't know how. She continued smiling at him nonetheless, her eyes shining affectionately. Without another word, she walked back into the ward. Hiro remained on the bench and watched her leave until his vision blurred. A small, barely distinguishable smile graced his lips. It wasn't so hard to smile when no one was expecting him to...

*             *             *

**To be continued in Chapter 12: Jump:**

oOo

Grabelsky smiled. "I see this guy knows you quite well," he said, looking fondly at Heero; "A friend of yours?"

"No—" "—the best," Heero and Duo spoke at the same time, glaring at one another.

"I see," The doctor frowned in puzzlement.

oOo

Heero wasn't looking at the doctor; his gaze was fixed on Duo, studying his reaction.

"You're becoming more forgetful and your vision keeps deteriorating," Grabelsky continued; "We'll need to operate soon or you might go completely blind."

oOo

"Don't take me for someone who can't even make his own decisions anymore," Heero hissed nastily; "I haven't gotten there yet."

"If you keep this up, you just might," Grabelsky muttered harshly.

oOo

 

[1] According to the Frozen Teardrop novel (© 2010), Odin was in fact Heero's biological father. He took the boy in after his mother and step father perished during a mission against the Alliance. However he chose to hide his true identity from his child.


	14. Chapter 12: Jump

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's Note:** This chapter and the previous one used to be one REALLY long chapter I decided to break into two. Since they're part of the same sequence plot-wise, I'm posting them together. Enjoy.  
>  Elle

**One Week 14/20**

**Chapter 12: Jump**

Halls were decked with boughs of holly as winter engulfed the city of Philadelphia. Snow descended upon the city, painting streets, roads and rooftops in heavenly white. Colorful Christmas lights twinkled in every window. A festive holiday atmosphere painted the city in rich colors of red, green and gold. Christmas AC 198 marked the anniversary of two years of peace on Earth and the Colonies. Celebrations were held around the globe. Cheerful music could be heard playing from every building. Every television channel spoke of a global joy and of a blessed peacetime.

Hiro hated watching the news around Christmas time. Too many programs recapped the war in a nicely compact, heavily censored and politically manipulative sixty-minute special. He hated Christmas for many reasons, none of which he was able to put into words. Thankfully, it was never required of him to explain why he detested the holiday; everyone seemed to understand his aversion of it.

Dr. Grabelsky, his neurologist, probably assumed that it had to do with the war, with that physical and mental trauma he had experienced two years ago while fighting at Brussels on Christmas Eve. Dr. Elin, his recreational therapist and a neurologist himself, would probably argue that the trauma went deeper than that, caused by years of emotional neglect and abuse now being twisted and amplified by the head injury, giving him a distorted view on the world (for it made no sense to the old Russian man that _anyone_ could despise Christmas as much as Hiro did). Dr. Naveen, his psychotherapist, most likely hypothesized that on this particular day he felt more depressed and alone than on any other day, perhaps feeling detached from the rest of the world, from all the "normal" people who lived an average life and had families to turn to. All of those assumptions could very well be true, Hiro supposed, but there was really only one reason he could think of that rang truest.

Marissa was the only one who knew what that reason was: Christmas brought everything back; year after year and probably for many more years to come. To most people Christmas was about joy, family and presents. It was about world peace promised by the birth of their Lord Jesus Christ and the actualization of peace finally achieved on Christmas AC 195. But to Hiro, the mere hints of the Holiday seasons – the decorations, the merry tunes and carols, the whole one-hundred days of Christmas – were sheer torture. The colors red, green and gold brought terrible news of impending personal doom. Like the screeching violins announcing the approach of a menacing maniacal monster in some cheap horror-flick, the symbols of Christmas signaled the return of a nightmare. The mere hints of the holiday – every sight, sound or smell – they all reeked of MO2. They all thrust him back there, forcing him to return to Duo.

He never told any of the doctors about MO2. In fact, he never even told Marissa about it, but it was inevitable that she knew. She had spent many hours by his bedside while he slept, plagued by nightmares; she was also present during many of his delusional episodes. She has seen his scars and the healing gash on his groin. Hiro was certain that she knew. It was easier that way, because he didn't have to explain himself to her. She was a woman of faith and Christmas was very sacred in her eyes. That was why he didn't wish to spoil her holiday. That was why he refused when she asked him to join her family on Christmas Eve. And, as it happened, that was also why she insisted that he'd come over and wouldn't take "no" for an answer. Knowing what she did, she refused to leave him alone on the holiday.

That was why Hiro now found himself standing by Dr. Grabelsky in front of Marissa's front door. He wasn't going to spend Christmas at the ward this year. Somehow he was convinced to spend the holiday at Marissa's apartment. A part of him felt that she was only doing it because she didn't wish to repeat what happened the year before, when she was called away from her family and religious practices just so she could come to the ward to calm him down. Another part of him, the less childish and insecure part, knew better than that. At the age of nineteen, mostly due to endless hours spent in front of the television at the ward, he had learned that there could be so much more behind a woman's invitation into her home. He knew better than to dismiss her request as an act of selfishness or pity; he knew, because he felt the same way. That was why he felt nervous when Dr. Grabelsky reached to knock on the door. There was no backing out now.

He waited anxiously for Marissa to open the door. Dr. Grabelsky was standing by his side, holding a small gym bag full of clothes he had bought for him. It was the first time he was going to spend more than a few hours out of the ward and the good doctor insisted that he'll have other casual clothes rather than the tracksuits he wore around the ward. Hiro refused the gift, but Dr. Grabelsky said that it was all in the Christmas spirit and that his wife would take offense if he'll come back home still carrying the bag. Apparently, it was a gift from Grabelsky's wife as well and therefore he had no right to refuse such unmerited kindness.

He would have felt a bit better if the doctor would have at least allowed him to carry the bag himself, but since he relied on a walking-cane for support, Grabelsky feared that carrying a hefty bag might throw off his balance and cause him discomfort while he walked— _limped_ badly. It wasn't something Hiro enjoyed hearing, but he didn't argued much (he didn't wish to come off as childish). In the very least, the middle-aged man let him carry Marissa's present (which was no big deal because the box was barely the size of his hand).

Looking down at the small gift he was holding in his hand, Hiro wondered if he made the right decision when choosing it. Dr. Grabelsky took him to the shopping center by the hospital a few days ago, insisting that he'd choose a Christmas present for Marissa. After limping around the mall with the support of his cane for about an hour, he finally decided on a simple golden necklace with a small cross pendant. He hoped Marissa will like it, knowing how important the cross symbol was to her Catholic faith. Duo was a Catholic too, he recalled, and wondered how he had learned that particular fact. He certainly never cared enough to ask and he doubted Duo ever spoke about God.

Dr. Grabelsky complimented him on his choice. The man paid for the gold necklace, but insisted that only Hiro will sign the card. He couldn't think of anything to write so he just wrote _'Merry Christmas'_. His handwriting was all messy; it looked nothing like how it used to look before the injury. He needed to practice writing more, but he never had anything to write about or anyone to write to. Relena sent him a Christmas card, but he threw it away without even reading it, because she had addressed it to _Heero_. That wasn't who he was anymore. Heero died two years ago.

He stopped to stare at the blue sweater he was wearing, the same sweater Marissa has knitted for him – the first gift he ever got. He thought she might appreciate the gesture if he wore it today. Dr. Grabelsky insisted that he'd wear it with a pair of tailored trousers instead of a simple pair of sweats like he usually did. The doctor even suggested that he'd get his hair trimmed a bit and Hiro complied. His bangs were indeed getting too long, constantly obstructing his vision. However, he still didn't understand why a haircut couldn't wait until _after_ Christmas. He didn't understand what possible reason he should have to dress festively for a holiday he didn't even care about.

His gaze shifted from the gift in his left hand, to the cane in his right hand. He eyed the metallic cane with great displeasure. While replacing his walker with a cane signified the great progress he had made, he hated it even more than the walker. It reminded him of J. He hated being reminded of J. He hated recalling how he had been beaten to obedience with the old man's metal cane. He hated the tears thoughts of the old scientist brought to his eyes. J wasn't just a mad scientist; he was a damn furious one as well. He hated how he'd shudder just by hearing any metal scrap against the floor, mistaking the sound for J's approach. He hated how he woke up screaming in the middle of the night due to dreams of that wretched old man; dreams of what that mad man had done to him. It was all J's fault. He never really blamed Duo. It was always his— no, _Dr. J’s_ — fault. It was J's fault! He hated him! He hated J! He hated that damn crippled old fart more than he hated himself and every Christmas put together! He hated him so much! He hated him!!!

"Hiro," Dr. Grabelsky's voice reached his ears and he gasped, snapping out of his angry trance.

"Are you alright?" the man asked with concern and Hiro nodded quickly, assuring him that he was.

Grimacing, Hiro turned to look down again. The sight of his bright white sneakers caught his eyes, drawing his easily distracted attention. He stared at his shoes, studying the loosely tied shoelaces he had worked so hard to tie by himself. He wondered when tying his own shoes will become an achievement unworthy of mention.

While getting dressed that afternoon, he somehow forgot that socks came before shoes. It was a stupid, pitiable, mistake – and it happened often. He _knew_ that he had to put his socks on before his shoes, but something inside him had simply decided to switch the order in which they were worn. He only realized that he was mistaken when he found that it was nearly impossible to put a sock on over a shoe. Frustrated, he untied the laces he had worked hard to tie together neatly, put the socks on and then put his shoes back on hastily, never bothering to tie them properly for the task had seemed too demanding a second time. Now he felt stupid and inferior. Will he ever be the same again? Socks before shoes – it was so simple! Why won't his mind accept it? He hated himself, but he hated J more. Oh, and hot dogs. He _definitely_ hated hot dogs.

The door finally opened. Hiro looked up, his eyes tracing the delicate pattern of a lovely flowery burgundy dress as his gaze shifted upwards to meet Marissa's face, framed by lush locks of wavy dark-brown hair. He was used to seeing her in a nurse's uniform, whether a white dress or white scrubs; he hardly ever saw her wearing every-day outfits (except of that one time when she had dragged him to the mall), not to mention a dress. He decided that it suited her full and curvy feminine figure and for the first time he realized why women bothered with such impractical clothing: she was beautiful.

"Alan, Hiro, welcome," Marissa greeted, smiling warmly. "You're a bit early."

Hiro's gaze shifted to her bountiful chest as she spoke. His glance just wandered off on its own and finally settled on a plain sterling silver cross pendant resting just an inch above her the deep crease of her cleavage. Marissa always wore that necklace. He felt stupid for buying her another one. Why should she be willing to replace her necklace with the one he had brought her? It was a stupid idea for a gift. Useless; much like everything else he ever did.

"I wanted to get ahead of traffic," Dr. Grabelsky explained. "I hope that's okay."

"Yes, of course it is," Marissa said and opened the door further. "Please, come in."

"I brought you a present," Hiro blurted out before he even went through the door. He handed her the small box. "Alan said I have to on Christmas," he explained. _'To keep the wheels of capitalism going',_ he remembered Duo had once said, but he didn't want to insult Marissa with such a comment.

Marissa smiled at him, her eyes shining tenderly. It was this warm gleam that taught him what tenderness was. After nearly two years of knowing her, he could easily recognize it. He had also learned to identify his need for it; he accepted her kindness hungrily. That was why, even though he felt a little foolish for giving her the gift straight away, acting like an impatient child, he also knew that she didn't mind. He was allowed to be himself, to be _Hiro_ , with her. He wasn't expected to follow any rules with Marissa. He liked that.

"Exchanging gifts is a tradition, Hiro, not an obligation," Marissa explained patiently, "But thank you very much. I'm sure I'll love it."

"Alan paid but I picked it," he heard himself say before he couldn't even think about stopping the outs coming out of his mouth. He felt even more foolish. He simply couldn't help himself. His tongue raced ahead of his rational mind on many occasions. He felt so damn juvenile, but Marissa smiled at him in understanding.

"Would you like me to open it now?" she asked as one would ask an eager child.

Hiro shrugged, trying to indicate that he didn't really care one way or the other; although he unadmittedly preferred that she'd open it now. He was curious to see whether or not she'd like the necklace.

"I packed him a bag," Dr. Grabelsky finally spoke up as he handed Marissa the small gym bag. "Amanda bought him some new clothes for the holiday," he explained.

Marissa nodded and accepted the bag. "That's very thoughtful of her."

"Now, you have my home number, and my mobile, yes?" Dr. Grabelsky asked to confirm and Hiro couldn't help but feel that the man was very apprehensive about him leaving the ward for a few days. Hiro could easily sympathize with that, because he felt the same way.

"I might not be able to answer right away, but I will get back to you as soon as I can," the man added apologetically.

"Alan, it's alright!" Marissa assured him with a bright smile. "You should just enjoy spending Christmas with your family. We'll be just fine."

"I'm not a child," Hiro cut it and the two fell into an awkward silence. They usually did when he reminded them that he was still in the room while they spoke about him in the third person. Was he so easy to ignore? He truly did resemble a small child. He hated it. He hated Christmas. He hated everything. He should have stayed at the ward.

Dr. Grabelsky cleared his throat, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "I should get going," he said, "Amanda's waiting."

Marissa nodded. "Wish her a merry Christmas for me."

"I will," he promised and turned to Hiro. "For what it's worth, I wish you a merry Christmas as well."

Hiro nodded in acknowledgment of the greeting. He wondered if he should greet back, but by the time he made that decision Dr. Grabelsky was already at the door.

"Call me if anything happens," he told Marissa and after she agreed, he left. Hiro wanted to leave with him. He didn't wish to stay at Marissa's place. He didn't want to spend a holiday he hated with people he didn't know. Not that there was any holiday he liked; he didn't know that many holidays anyway. They had a Halloween party at the ward a while ago; that was a holiday, right? It was a strange party. At first, he didn't understand why Marissa encouraged him to dress funny. He refused to wear the ridicules cowboy hat she brought him, but obliged her request to join the costume party taking place at the cafeteria (she promised that there will be cake). Then he had realized that the Halloween holiday required wearing a disguise of some sort. He was glad he refused Marissa's request to dress strangely. Being _Hiro_ was enough of a masquerade; he had no need to dress as someone else when he already felt like a stranger to himself. He fit right in with the rest of the strangers.

Then there was that holiday with the turkey and stuffing. They held a Thanksgiving feast at the cafeteria. Surrendering to his sweet tooth (a strange quality he had developed after the brain injury), he agreed to come because Marissa promised there'll be pumpkin pie, and he never had pumpkin pie before. There weren't any pumpkin pies on Halloween, even though there were plenty of pumpkins lying around. Dr. Elin asked all the patients at the ward to carve faces on pumpkins as an exercise before the holiday and he carved a silly grumpy face that made Marissa laugh, so it wasn't such a pointless exercise after all. Dr. Elin didn't ask them to make any stupid sculptures on Thanksgiving, though. Instead, some pre-school kids came to the ward and preformed a crummy play in which they too had dressed funny, like Pilgrims and Indians. That didn't make much sense to him, but the pumpkin pie was good.

He knew that Christmas did not entail pretending to be someone else, nor were there any pumpkins, but he knew that there will be turkey again. He wondered why some holidays had turkey, why some had pumpkins and why some had both. He didn't understand any of these American traditions, but he had learned from watching television that they were supposed to make people come together and be happy.

Duo once told him that Christmas was about friends and family (he never mentioned turkey) and Hiro felt that he had no right to barge in on Marissa's family's Christmas. He knew that family was important. He had lost his family a long time ago, because they just _died_ and left him with Odin, who was nothing like family; he was more of a pet-owner than a parent. Nevertheless, Hiro knew how important family was to those who still had one, because as a child he always wanted his family back. He didn't understand why Marissa insisted that he'd come over, but since Duo also told him that Christmas was a time for peace, he didn't wish to start a fight with her and upset her, so he agreed. Now he was beginning to regret it again. He felt very uncomfortable being in her apartment now that Dr. Grabelsky has left them alone... together. How can someone be alone together? Yeah, he supposed that was possible, in a way.

"Can I go?" he asked anxiously as he looked around the apartment, nervous. It was a small and modest apartment and he supposed that most would describe it as "warm and cozy". He didn't know what "cozy" was exactly, but looking at Marissa's small apartment he felt a bit closer to understanding it: cozy was like the feeling he got when Marissa hugged him. Her apartment was as warm and accommodating as her embrace. It smelled like her too. She was also very considerate of him and didn't hang any Christmas decorations, so he won't have to remember the nightmare again. She knew him so well and that's what made him feel... _cozy_.

"Go where? The bathroom?" Marissa asked, confused, as though unable to fathom that he wanted to go home. Home... there was no such thing as _"home"_. He didn't know what _"home"_ was. He only knew that he'd rather be back at the ward rather than continue standing in Marissa's living room.

"This is... wrong," he tried to explain how uneasy he felt. "I don't know this place." The setting was very unfamiliar, everything felt strange and it made him anxious. He wanted to go back to the ward, where he was comfortable, where he knew what was expected of him.

Marissa smiled kindly at him. "It's alright, you'll get used to it soon enough. I know that this is new, but we've discussed how you have to learn how to deal with life out of the ward, right?"

Hiro nodded his head vaguely. Yes; everyone has been saying that lately, especially his psychotherapist. Naveen said that he should take into consideration that one day, perhaps soon, he will be well enough to be discharged and that he had to start planning for that day. Hiro didn't know what to plan, because all he had ever been capable of planning was the next mission. With his role as a soldier long complete, he had nothing waiting for him outside the ward. No one will understand him like the staff at the ward did and he feared that if he'll live on his own, life will lose its appeal again. Dr. Naveen said that they would still continue their therapy sessions after his discharge, if he didn't wish to meet with a different psychiatrist. Hiro was appalled by the very thought of having to explain everything from scratch to another stranger, so he told Naveen that he would like to continue seeing him if that was okay. It comforted him to know that he will still be able to visit the ward every now and then, but he hoped that he won't be asked to leave for a very long time. He wasn't ready to leave yet.

Marissa was watching him intently. She could probably tell how lost he felt. Hiro gazed at her quietly, his eyes shining with guilty need for her acceptance. Will he be forced to part with Marissa after his release from the ward? Will he still be able to come visit her at the ward once he's discharged? Will she even want him to visit?

"Come Hiro, sit down," she invited him to the sofa. "Don't be nervous. It's just me."

They took a seat next to one another. Hiro felt like the air was a little too heavy to breathe. He held onto his cane tightly, watching his knuckles turning white.

"May I open the present now?" Marissa asked softly and he hoped she wasn't walking on eggshells because of him. Something was very different in the way she was looking and speaking to him. He fidgeted in his seat, shifting uncomfortably.

"Yeah," he whispered. She'd probably hate his gift. As she unwrapped the present, Hiro shifted his gaze to glance around the room, impatient. There was an old fireplace mantle opposite of the sofa. A large black Jesus on a Cross decorative piece was hanging above it. He stared at it lengthily and noted that there was also a Virgin Mary statue resting on the mantel beneath the cross. There were a few framed photographs on the mantel as well. They seemed to be family photos. He wondered if the mantel was a shrine of some sort.

"Oh, Hiro," he heard Marissa gasp delightfully and turned to face her again. She was smiling. "This is absolutely beautiful," she whispered as she held the fine golden necklace in her hand; the small cross pendant rested against her delicate fingers. Hiro stared at her hand, wondering how her fingers could seem so soft and graceful even though they tended to patients on a daily basis.

"Thank you," she whispered gratefully and leaned down, offering him a brief kiss on the forehead, as she often did. He had long gotten used to her soft, warm, longer kisses; he was growing quite fond of them as well. At first, they were a source of confusion and distress; now, he accepted them as a sign of approval and affection. He enjoyed that.

Pulling back slowly, Marissa reached her hands up behind her neck. Hiro's eyes darted up to the sterling silver cross she was already wearing around her neck. He watched, stumped, as Marissa unfastened the necklace and took it off carefully. She replaced it with his necklace.

"This really means a lot to me," she said, looking into his eyes and smiling warmly. "I know how much you disapprove of my religion."

It wasn't that he disapproved; he simply didn't understand it enough. He had learned to recognize the importance of faith and even his need for it. However, he could never bring himself to believe in something as unearthly and unfounded as a _God_. He ached to believe in something, but he would rather believe in Marissa than in her God. He would have told her that if he could find the proper words. Instead, he remained silent, observing her carefully.

Marissa got up and walked over to the fireplace. He watched her place the sterling silver necklace over a framed photo of an old man, letting the cross pendant dangle over the photo.

"My grandpapa gave me this before we left Mexico," she explained as she caressed the photo gently.

"Your family is important to you," he stated the obvious, speaking just for the sake of saying something. He knew that it would make her happy if he talked. Duo used to encourage him to speak too, even when he had nothing to say. Duo told him that it was enough to voice an opinion, state the obvious or make a useless observation. He said that it was always enough to get a conversation going. The Soldier seldom followed that advice, but now, as Hiro, he found it very useful.

"Yes, it is," Marissa sighed, suddenly troubled. He watched her pick up a different framed photo; this time it was a portrait photograph of a young boy dressed in a white choir gown laced with gold. The boy didn't seem to be more than twelve. He was dark skinned, his hair ebony-black and his eyes sparkling green.

"My youngest brother, Adriel," Marissa explained sadly, "My mother's pride and joy," she added bitterly. "He was an altar boy at our church. He was going to start studying at the seminar when we left Mexico. My mother wanted nothing more for him but to become a priest at our church, so he stayed with my grandfather. They both died when our village was destroyed."

"During the war?" he asked, feeling guilty. It was probably not even his fault (he didn't recall ever fighting over Mexican ground), but he still felt responsible for it, for being unable to stop the killing much sooner than he had. Sometimes he felt as though the fate of the world and dozens of Colonies still rested on his shoulders, long after he had collapsed under the burden, buried underneath the weight of the world. The Soldier was crushed under it and he, Hiro, was the one to crawl shakily out of the wreckage. Sometimes, it felt like it all went tumbling down on him all over again.

Marissa sighed and placed the photo back on the mantel. "The Alliance was testing some kind of new mobile suit in the desert. They neglected to check if there were any populated areas in the test site. The village was burnt to the ground. Broke my mother's heart... She was never the same after that," Marissa sighed sadly. "She got even worse after my dad left."

She turned to face him again, offering sad, hesitant smile. "But we don't need to talk about that now. And especially not about my _mother_ ," she muttered, rolling her eyes. "She won't be coming over tonight. Neither will my older brother Pedro."

Hiro turned to her with a question in his eyes. "Why not?"

"Because, I want to be with you tonight," Marissa replied simply; she was smiling sheepishly. Her lush lips were brushed with lipstick; they gleamed under the dim warm light illuminating the apartment, appearing moist. She was tantalizing. Was that even a word? Yes, of course it was. But Marissa wasn't someone to be desired from afar. Her flirtations were as clear as glass. That was the exact problem: she was never out of reach. Marissa was there for him if he so desired, and that was a frightening thought, because he did.

His gaze still lingered onto her lush lips. He felt guilty for staring at her for so long, so he looked away anxiously. He held onto his cane tightly, feeling even more uncomfortable than before.

He knew about sex, because Dr. Naveen told him all about it and Dr. Elin even showed him a dirty video once, which was rather disconcerting because he couldn't stop thinking about it for _weeks_. But knowing and wanting were two completely different things. During the first few months after the coma, his sexual urges, much like any other emotion, were very difficult to control. He would get so unbearably hot, sometimes when a nurse washed him and other times for no apparent reason. He even got hot when _Relena_ was in the room, and he didn't even like her that way. It was terribly embarrassing (especially if he thought back on all the times _Marissa_ had washed him), but he had learned to take care of the _need_ on his own. He figured that it would be enough, but now, as he gazed upon the voluptuous woman standing before him, he felt that he wanted... _more_ ; so much more... like in that video. And he was pretty certain that that kind of _more_ wasn't allowed.

"I thought it would be nice if it were just the two of us," Marissa elaborated carefully.

"Why?" he asked shakily. She was making him feel even more insecure, which was something he usually didn't feel in her presence. She was his pillar of strength; she often made him feel worthwhile, she gave him a reason to keep trying. He didn't like feeling so small next to her all of a sudden. He felt so... _impotent_. His cheeks blushed in hot red; he was humiliated by his own incompetence. He could never be like that guy in the video.

Something was changing between them. He wasn't sure that he wanted more change. Things have changed more than enough for him in the past few years. Duo changed things terribly three years ago, on Christmas. Two years ago, on Christmas 196, the head injury changed him radically as well. Last Christmas, Marissa changed things for the better. It seemed that, to him, Christmas wasn't about peace or friendship; it was about _change_. It was no small wonder that he feared it so much. He never knew how Christmas would affect him.

Marissa walked away from the mantel and took a seat by his side on the sofa. She reached for his hand, holding it gently as she gazed into his eyes.

"I know how hard Christmas is for you," she spoke slowly, somber yet tender. "And I promised myself that I won't let him haunt you this year."

Hiro cast his gaze down as he felt his heart sink painfully. He did not like it when she spoke of Duo. He made it very clear that the subject was a taboo, so she never dared to speak Duo's name. However, referring to him was enough. He didn't like it when she mentioned Duo. She should know better than to speak about him on Christmas Eve. Out of all nights of the year, this one was the worst. Duo always came back to haunt him on Christmas Eve.

"Don't," he told her and pulled his hand away from hers, turning to face the other way.

"I know how hard this must be for you," she said softly, reaching for his hand again and holding onto it purposefully. "But I want to make it better."

"You can't," he grunted grimly, still refusing to meet her eyes. He was afraid that he would tear up if he did. Thinking of Duo made him feel so fragile, so broken and hollow. He hated thinking about Duo. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out images he ached to forget. His back was trembling. He was falling apart again, much like he did that night when he cried under the stars, grieving for the loss of just about everything.

Why was she doing this to him? Why was she insisting on hurting him now, after all this time? She must know better by now – she must! She shouldn't speak of Duo; she shouldn't touch him where it hurt so much. This hurt was his and his alone; he didn't wish to share it with anyone—he _will not_ share it with anyone. That would mean that he had lost. He will not lose to the Filth. He will prove J wrong. He will heal, move on and continue to value his humanity. He will forget about what happened. He will, eventually; one day... but probably not ever.

Still, he had to try. Without trying, he was nothing but a filthy, beaten, stray _dog_. Without trying, only failure would remain of him. Defeat would be his only legacy. That was unacceptable; he owed The Soldier at least that much. He will keep on trying. He _will_ forget.

"Christmas could be a time of joy for you too, Hiro," Marissa insisted, oblivious to the turmoil she had instigated in his heart. He let out a choked little snort, bordering on an insolent chuckle\sob. His eyes were still closed, refusing to face the horrors he felt sizzling just beneath the surface of his mind.

"There is no joy," he rasped tiredly. "You know that," he accused, finally opening his eyes to look at her. His gaze was harsh, angry and almost filled with contempt. She insisted on making him remember; she refused to let him forget! No... that was harsh; childish. He should not accuse her of something that wasn't her fault. It was Christmas; it was holiday's fault. He hated Christmas.

"Not ever?" she asked; her voice sounded wounded. She gazed at him wretchedly.

He sighed, burdened by the demand for understanding he saw in her eyes.

"Can't you think of a single joyous moment in your life?" Her eyes were pleading him to open up, to share even more of himself with her. So far, he has only shared his pain. He wished he could share joy with her too, but he had none of which to offer or to share. His life was empty of anything but anguish, interrupted by very few colorful and content memories of pleasant moments he had experience. Rare mundane moments of serenity, moments he had shared only with Duo. Duo was the first person he had ever shared his trust with; the first he had ever felt secured to depend on. He had rediscovered his humanity thanks to Duo. He had discovered the will to survive, the resolve to live, thanks to Duo. There was much he could tell Marissa about the positive influence Duo has had on him, about the good he had brought into his life. However, considering how things ended between them, those memories were now more tragic than joyful. The subject of Duo was forbidden. He will not dare to speak of those moments to Marissa and therefore, he shook his head in response to her question: he had no joyous memories to share with her; he couldn't.

Marissa cast her gaze down sadly. He felt her hold on his hand falter slightly, weakening, before grabbing on stronger than ever. That surprised him; she refused to be let down by him. She looked up at him, resolved. The look in her eyes was intense, drawing him in as though it had its own gravity.

"We can create one together," she whispered slowly. "We will make our own joyful memory, tonight. We'll make this night about something other than him." She offered him a hopeful smile, tugging at his heart strings. She really wanted him to be happy. If only he knew how, he would oblige her. Anything for her.

"I can't," he tried to explain. "I might ruin this... I... I might jump. I can't help it when I... when I jump back to... to him. Especially tonight," he whispered fearfully, lowering his gaze down to stare at the floor. He didn't want to taint her Christmas with his filth.

"I know," she whispered back and her voice was full of sympathy and understanding.

"Jump" was a word only Marissa understood. It referred to the times when he got confused, forgetting where and when he was, mistaking the present for the past. He had dubbed those moments "jumping" because his mind would skip back a few years and then suddenly, quite abruptly, re-acknowledge the present. To him, it felt like jumping back and forth in time; one moment he was sure he was years ago, and then, just like that, he would suddenly realize where and when he actually was. The jolt often left him confused and hurting, just like he had felt when coming out of the rush of piloting the ZERO Gundam. Sometimes the shock or re-acknowledging past, present, and everything that happened in between, was so great that he'd faint, assaulted by more than he could handle.

Marissa had witnessed many of his Jumping Episodes. She had heard him scream and cry in horror, suffering guilt and pain from the memories of what he's been through. Thus, Marissa gradually learned of the part he had played in the war, of his terrible upbringing and the hardships of his life. She has witnessed his anguish and remorse on a most intimate level. On rare occasions, she even participated in his mental reenactments of the past, for he had ignorantly designated a role for her in his delusions, mistaking her for someone else. Sometimes he had feared her and other times he had clung to her like a frightened child seeking protection. That was why she knew about Christmas without him ever having to speak a word about it. That was why she didn't want him to be haunted by his past tonight. She was very kind to him; he was so very grateful.

"I know you might jump," she whispered softly, sympathetic, "But we'll find a way to get over that too. One step at a time, okay? I'm here for you."

"Why?" he blurted the question dumbly, unable to understand why he deserved such kindness and understanding. What did she see in him? Did she pity him, was that it? He could not accept her pity; it would be a terrible betrayal, even worse than Duo's. At least Duo's betrayal wasn't intentional.

Marissa did not respond to his question verbally. Instead, she reached her hand up and ran it through his thick messy hair, pushing his bangs up and letting them fall back over his eyes as she ran her hand smoothly over and around his head, brushing against the lumpy scar at the back of his head. Her fingers lingered there for a moment, caressing the large scar with a feathery touch. She gazed at him longingly, looking deeply into his eyes. It wasn't the first time she's been petting his hair so intimately, so he did not cower from her touch. He stared back at her silently, studying her lovely face, searching for answers to his questions. He recognized the affection in her eyes. It didn't seem to be clouded by pity. He knew what pity looked like; he had seen it in Relena's eyes. Marissa's gaze was different; genuine.

She drew her hand back slowly; her fingers lingered to the soft strands of his hair for as long as they could as they made a sorrowful depart. Her other hand was still holding onto his hand, resting on the sofa. She gave it a light squeeze. Hiro cast his gaze down to stare at their joint hands. His hand felt terribly hot. He was beginning to sweat.

"You should be with your family," he murmured sadly, preparing to pull his hand away from her grasp. "You'll make better memories with them."

"I don't think so." She held onto him tightly, refusing to let him retreat. "This is better," she assured him with a whisper, smiling lovingly.

"I don't understand," he said, trying to convey how confused and uncomfortable he was by her strange and intimate behavior. He wasn't sure what she was expecting of him. How did she want him to create pleasant memories with her?

"It's alright," she whispered, leaning towards him slowly. "You will soon enough. I'll show you and if you won't like it, I'll stop. I'm not forcing you into anything, okay?" She asked gravely and he could sense that it was important, so he nodded.

"Okay."

She smiled, holding his hand pressed gently between her palms. "I'll make this a merry Christmas," she promised, leaning towards him, and sealed that promise with a kiss; one unlike any other kiss she has ever given him. She drew him closer and he let her embrace him, even though he wasn't crying or in need for comfort. He felt that she was the one in need of him and the sensation was powerful. His hands sprung up and he hugged her back tightly, his arms wrapped around her full curvy waist. She was so hot. He inhaled her scent, intoxicated by her familiar sweetness. Her lips were still locked over his, moist, warm and sugary. Her kiss did not merely offer him friendship: that much he understood. Her kiss offered something else; something he has never shared with anyone before. It was a deep, burning, sensational and exhilarating kind of joy that went from his mouth and straight down to his pants. This was so much better than that porno Dr. Elin showed him...

Hiro pulled Marissa closer hungrily. He kissed back; somehow, his lips just knew how to respond to her warm invitation. He dared to take the plunge; to share his deepest pain with her freely, hoping she will be able to erase the smoldering filth once and for all. She was the only one to ease the feeling thus far; the only one capable of cleansing the poisonous obscenity from his veins. She knew what happened; she accepted it, accepted him. He was tired of trying to carry the burden on his own. He was tired of pretending like nothing ever happened, because it had. There was no real reason to deny what happened on MO2. Marissa knew; she has known for a long time now. Fear has blinded him; he had failed to notice that the hurt wasn't his alone anymore. She has taken some of it away, somehow. She has soothed his open wounds and stopped the bleeding without him even taking notice of it. If he could share such darkness with her, if she could share it with him willingly without turning away, then surely he could also share joy with her too.

He plunged in wholeheartedly, hungry for her light to chase away the rest of his darkness, to push all memories of Duo aside. It was the first real step he took towards finally forgetting. Eight years later, he has almost completely forgotten. The memories were never fully gone, but they were suppressed, submersed and thrust someplace dark and distant in his subconscious. It took him close to a decade, but he has finally managed to put MO2 behind him.

There were bigger things to consider now that he was an adult: a father, a provider and a person struggling with poor health. It has been years since he had allowed a thought of Duo to cross his mind, at least not while he was awake and conscious, in control. Nightmares were a different matter; those still haunted him now and then and there was little he could do about it. Psychiatric medication and sleeping agents helped; they allowed him the pleasure of an oblivious sleep from time to time. They kept the nightmares away, but also denied him of pleasant dreams, robbing him of sweet delusions he might have been able to enjoy without the drugs. It was a small sacrifice, all things considered. He was grateful to be free of Duo, to be free of the burden which had crushed his soul and shattered it completely.

But now Duo was back.

The nightmare had spared his sleep only to reappear while he was awake.

Duo was back.

Shakily, Hiro reached for the medicine cabinet and yanked it open. He needed his meds. He had tossed and turned for hours, fighting off nightmares he hadn't faced in years. It was four a.m., Monday morning, and Duo was asleep on the sofa, snoring loudly. He could feel his presence, even behind the closed bathroom door. The sensation was disturbing. He was thrown completely off balance when he opened the door to take Chowder out for a walk and there was Duo, standing at his doorstep.

He felt too nauseated to eat the lunch he had cooked for them. His insides clenched painfully and his brain threatened to overload and explode as the past caught up with him in one swift blow. He had jumped a couple of times since, and that was a bad omen, because Duo was there. He was right _there_.

He reached for one out of many medications and opened the lid with unsteady hands. His hand shook terribly as he threw a pill into his mouth and swallowed it dry. His migraine was killing him. His brain pulsed and throbbed painfully. One thought circled wildly in his head, running amok like a frantic beheaded chicken: Duo was back. The nightmare was back.

His mind reeled, assaulted by memories; they flickered before his eyes like a jumpy old film. He felt dizzy and had to grab the edge of the sink to keep from falling backwards. He knew this feeling; his mind threatened to Jump. He was going to experience the hurt all over again; because Duo was back. He was back.

Overwhelmed, he fell to his knees and had to struggle to get up.

One week. He had given Duo a grace period of one week. He simply couldn't turn his back on the man. He was such a fool! A stupid, stupid fool! Bad dog! Bad BAD dog!

One week. It will be the longest week of his life. If he won't play his cards right, if he won't abide by the rules, this week might also be his last.

Hiro slammed the medicine cabinet door shut. His reflection stared back at him: pale, haggard and frightened. He shuddered and stared back, struggling to face the fear he saw gleaming in his own bloodshot eyes. Was this the person Duo saw when he looked at him? It was no wonder he had stared at him long and hard yesterday, when he first opened the door for the man. After all, Duo was expecting _Heero_. He was no longer that person; he hasn't been him in almost a decade.

Slowly, he reached a hand up to remove his eyeglasses. He stared lengthily at his own reflection, seeking The Soldier, begging him to resurface from the deeps. He had to be Heeroagain. Somehow, never mind how, he had to be Heero again, at least for a week. As long as Duo was there, he had no choice.

He looked at his own reflection with disdain; disapproval shone bitterly in his eyes. He looked like a ghost; Heero's ghost, pale and torn with torment. A condemned soul; the soul of The Soldier.

Shaking, he reached two hands up and washed his face dry, as though to scrub away the past few years, hiding them, burying the changes they've made in him. He dared to look up at his reflection again. His face was red after scrubbing so hard. At least he wasn't so ghastly pale anymore. He stared deeply into his own eyes.

One week. He had to be that person, codenamed Heero Yuy, for one lousy week. Somehow, no matter how; his survival depended on it.

"Heero Yuy," he whispered at his refection; his voice faltered with uncertainty. He cast his gaze down and back up again, glaring at his refection. " _Heero Yuy_ ," he emphasized each syllable sternly. He glowered at his own refection, forcing his features to harden, to look detached and composed. He remembered how that expression felt like: cold, indifferent, hard; like a stone mask. He had found Heero. It wasn't as difficult as he thought it would be. All he had to do was let the barrier fall over and around his heart.

"Do this for me and we're even," Heero told the man in the mirror. Hironodded silently, giving his unspoken consent.

He heard a noise from the living room. The leather sofa squeaked as Duo turned. His heart fluttered with fright. He had to strengthen the barrier. Fear wasn't an option. Weakness wasn't an option. Everything depended on him being strong again.

He had to hide any evidence of Hiro, of his weakness, from Duo. He hurried to yank the medicine cabinet open and quickly grabbed all of his medications, stacking it in his arms. He slammed the cabinet shut and—BOOM!

With a resonating bang, everything went dark.

Alarmed, Heero staggered back and gasped. He didn't even notice that he let go of the medication bottles until they fell to the floor in a loud messy clatter. The sound of clanking was distinctive: the plastic containers fell and rolled onto a metallic surface.

He jerked his head down to look at the floor. The room was dark, but a dim bluish halo illuminated the spot in which he stood. The floor was indeed made of shiny silver metal.

His heart began to race.

Slowly, he lifted his head up to gaze at the black void around him. His breath caught in his throat and his face blanched when his eyes encountered what was ahead: the black void was full of small, silvery bags floating in zero gravity: food rations.

He swallowed, hard, as his gaze shifted to follow a few of the rations floating by. His breath heaved, shortening with panic. He squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could, willing the images to disappear.

He knew this place. AsHiro, he had nearly forgotten about it. But Heero knew this place well. He knew what was about to happen next, and he was terrified of it.

A hand grabbed him by the shoulder.

Heero's eyes flashed open, wide and full of terror.

"DUO – DON'T!" he heard himself cry out, but the words didn't really leave his mouth. His lips were locked tight, even though his own tormented scream echoed in his ears:

**"D   O   N   'T!!!"**

Duo quickly drew his hand away from Heero's shoulder and jumped back into his seat by the hospital bed. "Sorry," he mumbled edgily; "It looked like you were having a nightmare," he explained; "I was only trying to wake you up."

Heero opened his eyes. He looked around, confused. He was in a hospital – why?

Then he suddenly recalled the screeching tires as a car ran into him. He had stepped out into the street and although he tried to look before crossing the road, he missed the car heading straight towards him. Luckily for him, the vehicle was slowing down before a red traffic light. The blow wasn't fatal, but forceful nonetheless.

Yes, he remembered now. He broke his left arm and busted his bad leg again. Duo called an ambulance. He was rushed into the OR for surgery and then... then everything hazed out of reality and scrambled into one big mess – he had _jumped_.

"Duo?" he whispered shakily. He had to assert whether he was dreaming or awake; was Duo a reality or a nightmare? Probably both: Duo was a living nightmare.

"Yeah?"

"You're... here?" Heero wondered, still quite dazed. He was having a hard time keeping focused. Dream and reality swirled like thick slime circling in his head, merging into a swamp of confusion.

"Sure am. Where else would I be? I've been waiting for ya ta wake up since yesterday. You cannot _believe_ the cramps this damn chair is giving me!"

Disoriented, Heero slowly moved to sit up, managing to lean forward just a slight bit before he winced in pain. His body ached; his left leg felt like it was being pricked by hot iron. The feeling was excruciatingly familiar: his leg had prickled similarly for months before he began physiotherapy back in AC 198.

Exhausted, Heero fell back against the pillow. He turned to search the room, shifting his eyes left and right. His field of vision was terribly slight. Seeing through his eyes was like gazing through a narrow cylinder providing a tunnel-vision of what lay directly ahead. He could only focus his eyes on objects before him; everything else faded into black. It has been like that for years now, Heero was used to it. Since most of the room remained hidden from his limited line of sight, he turned to Duo with a question:

"Marissa..?" he tried to ask for her whereabouts, but didn't have the strength to finish the question. It felt as though he had been gone a long time; as if he had jumped to the past the relived it minute by minute. Old feelings sizzled inside him; burning, aching with the loss of Marissa. He longed for the blissful sense of the maternal security she had once bestowed upon him. He felt like a child again. It will be a while before he could recover his sense of self. His mind pulsed dully against his temples, as it often did after a viciously prolonged Jump; it was like coming off the rush of piloting Wing ZERO.

Duo scowled darkly. "What about her?" he snapped; "I was here this whole time, Heero. No one else came."

What Duo meant to say was that _he_ was the only one who cared, but Heero knew better than to believe the subtext between his words. Still, he had to play along; he had to make Duo think that he had no one else to count on. That was one of the rules in their dangerous game.

He closed his eyes tiredly. Of course Marissa didn't come, he mused. With what she knew, she will probably never step into the same room with Duo. He, on the other hand, couldn't help himself. He couldn't turn Duo down, especially because Duo didn't even know just how much he deserved it. Marissa could never understand either; like Duo, she didn't know enough to understand just how complicated everything was.

He closed his eyes tiredly. Of course Marissa didn't come, he mused. With what she knew, she will probably never step into the same room with Duo. He, on the other hand, couldn't help himself. He couldn't turn Duo down, especially because Duo didn't even know just how much he deserved it. Marissa could never understand either; like Duo, she didn't know enough to understand just how complicated everything was.

He sighed. Like always, he had screwed up and now Marissa was furious with him. She was always furious with him. She was angry with him for a lot of things, and he couldn't blame her for most of them. First, she had been angry with him getting her pregnant and he responded with anger too because how could it possibly be _his_ fault?! He made sure to wear a condom every time... except for that _one_ time – but she should have said something! She knew how forgetful he could be! It was _her_ fault as much as it was his and besides, _she_ was the one who refused to use contraception because of her damn faith! Why should he be the only one held responsible for knocking her up when it was also her fault?!

He didn't want her to keep the baby, so she was also angry with him for demanding that she'd have an abortion against her Catholic faith. Furthermore, she was angry with him for shunning her after she told him she was going to carry the child to term. He didn't want anything to do with her back then and she never forgave him for it.

She was also angry with him for not standing up for her when she was fired from the hospital and had her nursing license revoked for her involvement with him. She was angry with him for not being there when she needed him, for renouncing his own son and for so many other wrongs he had done while trying to make up for all of that.

He started by offering to pay her rent so that she'd move out of her scornful mother's house. He had already settled into a life out of the ward and was making a handsome income. Life out of the ward had matured him; he finally got over himself and called a truce. Marissa was only willing to accept his money if he'd agree they'd search for adjacent apartments. He obliged reluctantly, knowing that it was all a part of her ploy to get him close to his son. He didn't know how to do that, but he tried helping out however he could without getting too close.

He paid her a substantial sum for child support and he showered Adriel with many gifts, but that was never enough for her. She insisted on making him a part of their son's life. Somehow, Marissa always managed to find a reason to be angry with him even when he tried to do just that. He couldn't seem to do anything right by her.

It was the little things that usually infuriated her the most, like if he accidently bought scented wipes instead of unscented ones back when Adriel was still in diapers (scented wipes gave him a rash), or if he served him a carrot sliced into circles instead of thin strips back when he was still an infant (she said they were a choking hazard). She would become upset with him whenever he demonstrated a lack of attention to the small details she held in such high regard. He was always extremely mindful of the specifics, but apparently that had also changed with the head injury.

That didn't mean she cut him any slack. Much like their time at the ward, Marissa always demanded more and more of him each day. There were many obligations he has agreed to fulfill over time (she also had a knack for persuasion; a unique ability to dismiss his arguments one by one until he had no choice but to oblige her), they seemed to have piled up over the years. Still, Marissa always held the notion that he should do more.

As Adriel grew, Marissa's demands only became harsher. Some rules made sense, like homework before games, or absolutely _no_ computer games which involved violence and, as she had put it: _'God forbid if he ever comes home and tell me that he watched TV all day!'_ Marissa expected him to entertain their child, to spend time with him rather than simply watch over him passively. It was her way of making sure that they'll bond.

In hindsight, he was thankful for her unforgiving nature. They worked wonders to bring him closer to his son. He had grown accustomed to her rules and even established a few of his own. It wasn't as easy as one would have expected it to be for a disciplined person such as himself. Rules were a way of life for him; hard, demanding and debasing rules that were once pounded brutally into his psyche. For a long while, he was afraid of ending up doing the same thing to his own flesh and blood, until Marissa made him see that too much leniency could also be destructive. Children needed boundaries, and he slowly learned how to define them for his own son. Once he learned how to do that, Marissa became far more appreciative and less harsh on him.

However, what he did this week was unforgivable: he has allowed Duo back into his life; he has let him into his home while their _son_ was there. It was a foolish, risky, _moronic_ move; naïve in a way that was very unlike him. He had honestly believed that he could keep things under control; that if he played by the rules then both Adriel and he would be safe. But it was nearly impossible to abide by the rules of the game when he kept _jumping_ every few hours. Duo's return seemed to have a terrible effect on him; it increased the jumping to a dangerous and frequent level. He was even jumping while conscious, something that hadn't happened since he went on medication a few years back. He kept fainting and that wasn't good. He mustn't faint in front of Duo!

Keeping his eyes closed, Heero lay perfectly still, relishing in momentary peaceful silence on Duo's part. He couldn't face Duo yet. He needed more time to distance himself from the Jump which had brought him back to a time way too close to the event he wished so hard to forget. Pretending to be asleep, he could almost pretend that Duo has never left the confines of his nightmare.

"Are you feeling any better?" he heard Duo asked; "Can I get you anything?"

 _He almost sounds sincere_ , Heero thought bitterly to himself.

"Heero?" Duo called his name timidly. "Heero? Did you fall asleep again?"

He considered to continue feigning sleep to avoid further conversation, it was something he had resorted to many times before, but then he heard the door open as someone entered the room. He blinked to get his limited vision into focus and, ignoring Duo, turned to see who it was.

An elderly doctor stepped into the room. His receding hairline and bushy eyebrows were a fading grey, a sharp contrast to his thick black eyeglasses and dark, squinting eyes. His nose was large and prominent, hook-shaped. There was a calm, meditative expression on his wrinkled face. Even with his poor eyesight, Heero had no trouble recognizing the man as Dr. Grabelsky, the head of the neurology ward and the man who had attended to his neuro-rehabilitation.

The doctor greeted both Heero and Duo with a curt nod of his head as he walked to the bed, carrying a patient chart.

"Good afternoon," he greeted; "Fancy meeting you here," he opened with a critiquing tone of voice.

Heero sighed; he was in no mood for lectures. He knew that Grabelsky expected him to show up for regular checkups, which he had canceled one by one. He had grown tired of being probed and poked by the doctors at the ward. His condition was permanent, most likely terminal, and no amount of testing could change that.

"Alan," Heero acknowledged weakly; "You're a long way from the ward," he muttered, frowning at his doctor.

"Well, if Muhammad won't come to the mountain..." the elderly man joked but then his expression hardened as he scowled gravely at his patient. "Since you've canceled all of our appointments, I decided to pay _you_ a visit," he said; "I heard about the accident. How's your leg?"

"It's fine," Heero grumbled and looked away, annoyed. He could feel Duo's curious eyes gawking at him and was immediately flooded with anger and humiliation. He didn't want Duo there, but he wasn't up to be facing the amount of bickering that would result from asking him to leave. It simply wasn't worth his trouble, because Duo will wind up doing as he pleased anyway. The man had an undeniable power over him; the power to do as he pleased without encountering any resistance. That was also one of the rules.

"Don't listen to him, doc," Duo spoke up, faking a friendly smile; "if he says it's fine it means that it hurts like Hell. If he says the damage is negligible, then it means you have to _amputate_."

Heero turned to glare at Duo, hoping a sharp and silent warning would be enough to shut him up. It rarely ever did, but he didn't have a lot of options at the moment.

Grabelsky smiled. "I see this guy knows you quite well," he said, looking fondly at Heero; "A friend of yours?"

"No—" "—the best," Heero and Duo spoke at the same time, glaring at one another.

"I see," The doctor frowned in puzzlement and turned to Duo. "Well, whichever the case, I must ask you to step outside while I run some tests."

"I much rather stay, doc," Duo insisted, as Heero knew he would; _the bastard._

"Duo, get out," he rasped gruffly, hardly managing to sound as certain and threatening as he wish to come off. He was too tired to keep up the pretense; he just wanted Duo out of sight already. He had promised Duo that he could stay until the end of the week; that was three more days away!

"Someone will have to make sure you follow your doctor's orders," Duo insisted; there was a manic grin hidden just beneath the surface of his mock-reprimanding expression. Duo didn't really care for his wellbeing; he just wanted to know what was wrong with him.

"It'd be better to keep me in the loop, doc," Duo concluded decisively as he turned to Grabelsky.

"Is that alright with you?" the doctor asked and Heero heaved a weary sigh, closing his eyes. He nodded, giving his silent consent. He didn't care anymore; he knew that Duo will get his way no matter what he'll say. Surely he will try to use his injury as an excuse to stay longer than a week. What would he do then? Kick him out by force? What _force_ would that be? He couldn't possibly fight Duo. There was no use in playing against the rules. Duo was here to enforce them. Any deviation will most likely cost him his life, but not before— no, he won't let that happen. Duo could do as he pleased. He won't fight.

"Alright," Alan concluded and pulled out a pen. He skimmed through Heero's patient chart. "Doctor Jenkins informed me that your leg should heal just fine," he explained; "Are you in any pain?"

Heero nodded slowly, keeping his eyes closed. His eyelids were a dark purplish shade, sore, swollen and ashen with fatigue. His injured leg pulsed dully, but what was really hurting was his head. He was experiencing one of the severe migraines he was so terribly prone to.

"I'll see what I can do about increasing the morphine dosage," the doctor mumbled as he jotted something down on the chart. "I don't want it to interfere with your medication. The wrong combination might cause you great confusion, even hallucinations."

"Already... has..." Heero murmured weakly and struggled to lift his heavy eyelids. His eyes just fluttered shut again; he was drained, on the verge of sleep. His muddled mind was still reeling with remnants of his jump, denying him of coherent thought. He found it hard to focus on the present as his mind kept wandering back to the past. Random scenes played before his mind's eye like jumpy old film. He wished Marissa were here to chase them away. Sometimes, he found that he missed her like a child would miss his mother, even though Marissa had been so much more than a maternal figure. She has been by his side since his rebirth, through the dire course of re-maturing and all the way to his re-entering the world as an adult. He had loved her as a child and then desired her as a man. Freud would surely have a field-day studying his oedipal feelings towards her. His therapist sure did; that was why he had stopped seeing Dr. Naveen soon after leaving the ward. He was done talking. He just took whatever medications he was prescribed and was done with it.

"I'll see what I can do about keeping you in the present," Grabelsky promised, still looking at the chart and then finally raised his head to look at Heero. "Are you up for a short checkup?"

Heero glanced up at Duo, who was watching the scene intently, silent for a change. Their eyes met and Heero hurried to look away, unable to look Duo in the eye just yet. It was too soon; the wounds felt fresh again.

Dr. Grabelsky came to lean over him, thankfully blocking the sight of Duo. He pulled a penlight out of his lab-coat's pocket and switched it on.

"I'm going to say a few words to you, Hiro," he explained as he pointed the light into Heero's eyes, observing the dilation of his pupils. "Please try to memorize them," he said while moving the penlight left, then right.

Knowing the routine, Heero followed it with his eyes.

"Oranges, flowers, door, lamp," the doctor spoke slowly and drew back, tucking the penlight back into his pocket. "Okay?"

Heero nodded in confirmation. He couldn't see Duo, since Grabelsky was in the way, but he was sure that the other ex-pilot was frowning at the whole thing.

"Good," Alan approved and gestured with his hands in an 'up' motion. Heero raised his right arm, the one that wasn't broken, up and stretched it ahead in eye-level.

"Let me know once it leaves your line of sight," Alan said as he wrapped his hand around Heero's wrist and guided his arm slowly to the left. He only moved Heero's arm a few inches away from the center before Heero pulled his arm back, indicating that there was no use to move it further; he couldn't see it anymore.

Grabelsky nodded in understanding and returned Heero's arm to the starting point. "Now to the right," he said and moved the young man's hand to the other direction. It wasn't long before Heero sighed and drew his hand away from the doctor's grasp; a sign to indicate that the result was the same as the previous side.

A stern, troubled expression covered the doctor's face as he wrote the results down in Heero's chart.

"What does it mean?" Duo asked worriedly. He was standing behind the doctor, his hands crossed over his chest as he watched the test nervously.

"Hiro's peripheral vision seems to have decreased by another ten percent," Grabelsky explained, scowling at injured young man. "You should have come for a checkup months ago."

"I don't need a checkup to know that I've gotten worse."

Grabelsky nodded gravely. "Do the eyeglasses help at all?"

"They're just a fashion statement, really," Heero muttered cynically while he reached his good hand up to rub his sore, swollen eyes.

"At least your sarcasm hasn't diminished," the doctor observed scornfully.

"I'd take eyesight over sarcasm any day," Duo interjected. "Why can't you fix his eyes?"

"Because there's nothing wrong with his eyes," the old man explained with a peevish sigh.

"It's my brain," Heero chose to clarify. If Duo was going to find out about his condition, then he will be the one to explain about it. He will retain what little control Duo allowed him to have.

"My brain can only receive limited visual information for my eyes," he elaborated calmly.

Confused, Duo let his arms down and allowed them to dangle dumbly at the sides of his body. "How come?"

Heero chose not to answer that yet. Grabelsky must have felt that it wasn't his place to fill Duo in on the blanks either. He turned to Heero with an anxious look in his dark eyes.

"What are the words I asked you to remember?"

Heero stared ahead numbly, his expression blank. He could feel both Duo's and the doctor's eyes on him. Both were expecting him to recite the words that were apparently spoken to him but a few moments ago. He didn't even recall being asked to memorize anything, yet he struggled to recall what they were. He came up empty.

"Try to remember," Grabelsky encouraged; "What was the first word I said?"

"Some color?" Heero guessed, unsure.

"Close," the doctor assured him; "Think carefully."

"A fruit," he corrected himself, closing his eyes in concentration. A vague image floated in his mind's eye. "An orange," he concluded and opened his eyes.

"Was that your deductive logic at work or are you actually remembering?"

Heero couldn't answer that question.

Grabelsky nodded gravely. "What else?"

Heero noted that Duo had tensed with anticipation, but he was completely at a loss. He couldn't remember.

" _Nothing_?" Duo exclaimed, disappointed.

Heero shook his head helplessly and lowered his gaze down, ashamed. He didn't want Duo to witness that. He shouldn't display weakness in front of Duo; that was also one of the rules.

"That's alright," Grabelsky tried to reassure him; "One word is still a good sign."

"Is he getting worse?" Duo asked anxiously.

"A lamb," Heero suddenly recalled and looked up at his doctor. Alan smiled tenderly.

"Close, it was a _lamp_."

"Dammit," Heero hissed and looked away. He was angry with himself for even trying. He only ended up humiliating himself further in front of Duo! There will be consequences, of that he was sure. He could actually _hear_ the madness sizzling under Duo's skin.

"I'm afraid this means that the tumors have started to press even harder against your occipital and temporal lobes," Dr. Grabelsky explained grimly. Heero wasn't looking at the doctor; his gaze was fixed on Duo, studying his reaction.

"You're becoming more forgetful and your vision keeps deteriorating," Grabelsky continued; "We'll need to operate soon or you might go completely blind."

Duo seemed stunned. His face actually paled a little.

"What tumors?" he mumbled dreadfully; "Heero – you didn't say nuthin' about no tumors! That kinda shit shouldn't be on a need to know basis! You shoulda told me about this shit sooner!"

"Shut up, Duo. I don't have to tell you anything," Heero grumbled and turned back to Grabelsky. "I thought you said that if I quit drinking then it won't get any worse," he accused sternly; "I've been dry for nearly five years," he reminded him.

Since he had already given Duo the impression that he used to have a drinking problem, Heero didn't care about saying those words next to the man. All he cared about was getting some clear answers from his physician, a man who forced him to go to rehab, join an AA group, stick with it and rid himself of his addiction, all under the guarantee that if he took good care of himself, his condition would remain stable. Apparently, he had been duped by false assurances.

His alcoholism developed as a way of dealing with the jumping. After his release from the ward, Heero was forced to face life and hardship on his own. There was no one there to pull him out of the strong grip of his nightmarish jumps. He had shunned Marissa, his only source of companionship, his anchor to reality, after getting her pregnant. Alone, he had to find another way to deal with the ramifications of each jump.

Drinking was an effective method. His dependency on alcohol grew as he discovered that while intoxicated, he didn't jump back to moments he wished to forget. He found fleeting peace in his addiction, until the blissful obliviousness was brutally interrupted by a sudden stroke. That was when his tumors were first discovered: two minor benign growths on his occipital and temporal lobes. He had lost 50% of his eyesight after the stroke; a condition that only deteriorated through the years as the tumors grew.

Dr. Grabelsky was furious with him for his carelessness. He had personally supervised his rehabilitation after the stroke, refusing to see all of the hard work put into his recovery go to waste. Letting go of alcohol was hard, for it brought back the jumps. Grabelsky prescribed him with antipsychotic drugs to help fight those incidents. It wasn't as affective as alcohol. The medication allowed him to live a somewhat normal life, but none of his efforts seemed to have helped prevent the inevitable. He was still getting worse.

"We couldn't have known for certain if the excessive drinking had instigated the stroke," Dr. Grabelsky reminded Heero; "As I've explained, alcohol abuse can precipitate a stroke because it directly affects blood vessels in the brain. However, in this case it's usually a hemorrhagic stroke. You didn't suffer an aneurysm, Hiro. Your cerebrovascular accident could well have been a direct result of the tumors, meaning that they might have already been there regardless of the drinking. They might have even formed along with your brain injury."

"What brain injury?" Duo cut-in anxiously. Dr. Grabelsky sent him a sharp glare for interrupting him and turned back to his patient. Heero bluntly disregarded Duo's ignorant exclamation.

"There was no way of telling because the tumors were extremely small back then," he continued. "You had to quit drinking as a precaution, Hiro, not a treatment."

Heero sighed heavily and bowed his head, staring numbly at the floor at Grabelsky's feet. "And now what?" he asked dolefully.

"Now, the tumors have grown significantly," the doctor replied solemnly.

"Which means what exactly?" Duo interjected once again. Heero didn't have to look at him to know that the young man was anxious and upset. He sounded as though he had just been told that he couldn't play with his favorite toy anymore. Heero nearly snorted at his own analogy. He knew that he couldn't be far from the truth.

"If we allow the tumors to grow further," the doctor elaborated, "then they might rupture a blood vessel and cause a deadly aneurysm. I need to do an MIR scan to know for certain, but I suspect that at their current size, conditions for surgery are optimal. They've most likely grown to a size that will finally allow us to remove them. We need to act fast or we'll miss this crucial window of opportunity."

Keeping his head bowed and his numb gaze on the floor, Heero listened quietly to the doctor's explanation. He allowed him to finish his speech and then finally looked up at the elderly man.

"I won't be operated on," he declared firmly.

Dr. Grabelsky turned to Duo. There was a stern, disapproving expression on his wrinkled face. "Kindly step outside for a few minutes, I need to speak with Hiro in private."

Although clearly reluctant, Duo surprised Heero when he obliged the doctor's request. He left the room, allowing the door to close behind him under its own momentum. The door didn't shut completely; it remained slightly ajar. Knowing Duo, Heero was certain that the other man was standing on the other side, eavesdropping.

Dr. Grabelsky took a seat by his bedside and Heero turned to face him, a defiant glare on his haggard features.

The older man regarded him gravely. "Hiro," he began slowly, "You might have been able to refuse surgery up until a few months ago, when your condition was more or less stable. I played along because the growths were still far too small to operate on. However now there's a clear deterioration in your condition. If we won't do anything about it soon, you will die."

"I'm aware of that," Heero muttered bitterly.

"You've worked hard to rehabilitate, to _live_ ," the doctor reminded him; "you can't just throw it all away."

"I rather die than go through rehabilitation again," Heero informed him solemnly. He was tired of fighting; so tired of everything. A sense of hopeless desperation gripped his heart tightly and he caved under it. The smoldering bleakness might only be another fading trace of his latest jump, but he felt its affects prominently. He didn't care enough to fight this new obstacle, to face yet another challenge, another dire struggle. He felt as though he had just finished his long struggle for rehabilitation, even though it was years ago. What was the point to fight for survival again? Duo was back and he will not leave until he'll break him completely. He shouldn't have to fight for a life that will only be taken away from him brutally. All he wanted was to be left alone, allowed to live out what little life he had left in peace.

"Hiro," Grabelsky protested; "it wouldn't necessarily be the same kind of process."

"Either way, I'm not interested."

The doctor sighed sullenly. "There've been major breakthroughs in the field of neurosurgery these past few years. Despite their minute size, these tumors _can_ be removed. A lot of innovative research has been done. I've recently read a paper detailing some very promising results achieved by scientists on L4. Recovery rates are high, especially for someone your age."

"But rehabilitation is still necessary," Heero pointed out. "I refuse to go through that again."

"Hiro—"

"It's my choice!" he exclaimed angrily. His life was still his one and only true possession. He was sick of others trying to control what was his: first Odin, then Dr. J, now Duo— no! He had fought hard to regain what he had lost after the war. His life was his to do with as he pleased! If he wished to throw them away, then no one had the right to stop him. Not Grabelsky or Marissa; not even Duo.

Dr. Grabelsky seemed stunned by his atypical outburst. "Hiro, you've been off the antidepressants for a while due to the surgery. This is your condition speaking, not you. Please reconsider."

"Don't take me for someone who can't even make his own decisions anymore," Heero hissed nastily; "I haven't gotten there yet."

"If you keep this up, you just might," Grabelsky muttered harshly. "The more you'll let those things grow into your brain, the more episodes you'll suffer from. You might not be able to distinguish past and present anymore. Not to mention, you'll go completely blind. With no family to fall back on, you will require the services of a professional caregiver; you might even have to be permanently committed. Is that how you wish to live out the rest of your life?"

"If it comes to that than I'll simply shoot myself," Heero muttered bitterly, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly. It has been years since he had last entertained thoughts of suicide. There was no need to long for death while living his life as Adriel's (secret) father. Heero wasn't sure he could even go through with it; chances were that he no longer had the nerve to pull the trigger on a gun aimed at his own head. Just thinking about it filled his heart with terrible regret for leaving his boy behind.

Even though he persistently refused Marissa's pleas to formally acknowledge Adriel as his son, Heero still cared deeply for the child. It wasn't easy at first. In the beginning, he had done everything he could think of to deny what happened. He had rejected Marissa with a clear warning never to contact him again. He was still living at the ward when Marissa first came to tell him that she had accidently gotten pregnant with his child. Albeit, he was nearing the final stages of his rehabilitation and was to be discharged, but his reaction to her anxious words was nothing but childish and obnoxious. The fearsome prospects of his release from the ward and fathering a child were too much to handle at once. In a split second he had regressed to his past immature state of mind. Her words made him feel as though the ground opened up and swallowed him whole. The stability he had learned to trust and depend on was disappearing from under his feet. He had just broken Rule Number One. He feared Duo would come back to enforce this rule.

A child was all about care. Loving him would bring terrible consequences. It was anxiety that guided his decision to renounce his unborn child and turn away from Marissa. He couldn't afford to care so much. That was the whole point behind the lesson Duo taught him.

But Duo wasn't around for the past decade and his irrational fears vanished over time. He had learned to live his life out of the ward. He had matured further, learning new lessons dealt to him by peaceful civilian life. He had learned to make room for both Adriel and Marissa in his new life. They've created a comfortable lie for Adriel to live with; it became a convenient status-quo they both compromised on.

If the subject ever came up – and it did from time to time – Heero justified his aversion from telling the boy the truth with a simple and irrefutable argument: He didn't wish to hand his burden down to Adriel. He was determined to have the sins of his past end with him. Marissa objected his reasoning heatedly. She dismissed his claims with her religious preaching: _'The fathers have eaten sour grapes, and the children's teeth are set on edge?'_ She had confronted him angrily with the question, quoting some holy text or another, telling him that _'_ _the son shall not suffer for the iniquity of the father, nor shall the father suffer for the iniquity of the son'._ She claimed that her Lord himself had affirmed that sons will not pay for the sins of their fathers. She argued that he would be the only one living with the bitterness of his sins; Adriel would never taste that sourness as well. She claimed that Christ's death was the only payment for sin that God would accept, and that by believing in their Lord and Savior who died for their sins, Adriel will also be redeemed. Her words did nothing to comfort him.

He did not believe in God, but Marissa assured him that their son will, and that his soul will be redeemed by this religious faith. She believed that the righteousness of Christ was transferred to those who believed by faith, and that it was the only merit that God would accept. She bestowed that faith upon their son, showering him with the Word and preaching of her Lord and her Catholic Church.

Adriel was still too young to comprehend what he was being taught and Heero could only hope that maybe one day, his son will choose his faith for himself. Meanwhile, Marissa was certain that her religion will protect their son from iniquity. She informed him that she had even baptized their baby by full submersion, claiming to have cleansed Adriel of the sins of his father and bathed him in the light of her Lord Jesus. Her pagan religious practices meant nothing to Heero, but he didn't express his objections and even attended his son's First Communion. He felt that he had no right to rob his son of a chance to believe in something as comforting as God.

Nevertheless, Heero did not believe that such faith could protect Adriel from his sinful past. He was a realist; he knew that the Church's _Holy Water_ couldn't change the simple and irrefutable fact that if anyone ever learned the truth behind the identity of Adriel's father, then their child would be forced to live his life as the son of an ex-Gundam pilot, the son of a sinner. His past will become a burden Adriel will carry in infamy, always having to justify actions he wasn't responsible for, having to answer to crimes he did not commit. Speaking in Marissa's terms, he explained that it was a cross he didn't wish his son to bear.

His legacy had to die with him. Therefore, he had sworn Marissa to secrecy, forcing her to vow on her Holy Bible that she would never tell Adriel who his father was. Bound by her faith, Marissa had kept his secret, but it didn't stop her from pleading with him every now and then to reconsider. She truly thought that it would benefit both him and their son.

Now that Duo was here, Heero was determined more than ever to protect his son against the demons of his past. If Duo learned just how much he cared for his boy, there was no telling what he'd do. He had to keep his distance from Adriel. He had to make Duo believe that he didn't care all that much, that he was a reluctant parent, that he was simply performing one more duty out of many.

Was that even possible, considering what Duo had seen so far? He wasn't able to keep from showing his affection towards the boy the other day. It wouldn't have been fair to Adriel if he suddenly shut him out with no explanation. The child was only seven years old; it would have broken his little heart, believing he had done something wrong. He knew very well what it felt like to live with the smoldering, unforgivable feeling that you were a bad, _bad_ , little boy. He knew how much it hurt to crave affection from a caregiver who only made you feel like shit. He could never hurt his son like that; not _ever_. He loved his son and now Duo was here to make sure that he'll be punished for it. Duo had spelled out the rules clearly, and he has broken every single one. Now, it was payback time.

Sighing despairingly, he turned to his doctor. "I'm sorry," he said once he realized that the old man was still waiting patiently to regain his attention. "I wandered off," he muttered, knowing that Grabelsky would understand, for it happened often.

The doctor nodded understandingly "I'm offering you another solution," he said softly, referring to Heero's last comment about shooting himself rather than relying on professional care. "Please reconsider your options. We'll speak again in a few days."

Grabelsky left the room and Heero turned his head to face away from the door. He closed his eyes, succumbing to the niggling drowsiness he had felt since waking up from the jump. Slumber might allow his mind time to sort through the jumble of past and present colliding, and hopefully rid him of the lasting effects of his long jump.

He clenched his eyes tightly, trying to suppress the chilling dread gripping his heart. He had two ticking bombs around him, both ready to go off without warning. One bomb was the tumors in his head, threatening to rupture in his brain and kill him at any given moment. The other was Duo, who might snap at slightest provocation and murder him in cold blood. It was a "lose-lose" situation; either way, Heero knew he was a goner.

*             *             *

**To be continued in Chapter 13: MO2:**

oOo

"You realize you just saved the fucking planet, right Heero?" Duo spoke up again, somewhat awed.

"Mm..." he let out an incoherent, drowsy, reply. He couldn't dwell on it right now; he was so tired and Duo felt so warm...

oOo

"You're being purposely annoying," Heero accused.

"And you're being purposely _vague_ when all you have to say is – Duo, you're my best bud, I love ya to death 'n I wanna hang with ya forever!" Duo grinned teasingly and Heero snorted.

oOo

"Don't—" Panting broke his voice; he was panicking, which was also new. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down forcefully in his throat. Was Duo going to— Heero's eyes clenched shut; horrified.

"No—! DUO – DON'T!"

oOo

 


	15. Chapter 13: MO2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNING!**
> 
> **This chapter is a particularly nasty one (only towards the end). Reader's discretion is advised. If you're interested to know what happened while skipping the horrors then there's a censored version of this chapter on[ff.net](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10925511/15/One-Week) .**
> 
> Don't say I didn't warn you...
> 
> Also, I am so nervous about posting this chapter, so if you choose to review, please be kind... 
> 
> Elle

**One Week 15/20**

**Chapter 13: MO2 (AKA: Christmas)**

Christmas Eve, AC 195; a holiday symbolizing world peace was brutally interrupted by war. The lengthy conflict between Earth and the Colonies was coming to a conclusion. A terrorist group defecting from the Colonies' consensus – embodied by the Gundams – has threatened to destroy Earth. The colossal space station Libra was descending towards the blue planet. If allowed to collide with Earth, an eternal winter will ensue and the planet will become uninhabitable. In a joint effort to save the Earth Sphere Unified Nation, OZ and the Gundam pilots united against the common threat. A grand mobile suit battle raged above the defenseless globe below. Powerful weapons' fire sprayed the blackness of space with a vibrant spectacle of lights. Distant explosions sparkled brightly in the Earth's sky; their brilliance glimmered through the atmosphere like colorful Christmas lights.

However the final stages of the epic act took place on a much smaller scale, confined within the walls of Libra's main reactor chamber. History would later tell how Gundam pilot 01, a nameless teenager codenamed Heero Yuy, had valiantly piloted the great Wing ZERO Gundam into the massive hall. His mission: to destroy the reactor and hence the station before it reached orbit.

From an individual's perspective, events seemed less grand and far grimmer. Wing ZERO was out of ammo. Heero had exhausted his ammunition while trying to infiltrate the station. He has made his way through a battlefield riddled with enemy mobile suits and lost his buster-rifle during the fight. To avoid wasting further ammo, the young pilot made his way into the station's core by tearing through walls with the mighty hands of his Gundam. Unfortunately, he had encountered great resistance and must have depleted his remaining resources. Even the saber beam no longer worked. Wing ZERO was running on fumes. He had to divert whatever little power he had left to keep the life support running. A Gundam without ammo could still operate on brute force alone; however even Heero was aware of the irrefutable fact that a fighting machine with a dead pilot inside was completely useless.

His only option was to self-detonate. A cynical smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. Was that ironic? He finally found the resolve to live and now he had no choice but to give his life away for the sake of humanity. He hoped someone will be able to appreciate the irony. He was certain that in the very least, his twisted fate will give Duo a reason to remember him with a tragic smile. His life may come cheap, but at least his death will be valuable: he will sacrifice his life to save those living on the planet Earth.

Heero reached to activate the self-destruct sequence. His expression was stony, resigned to his fate. Only his eyes gleamed with silent regret as he bid the world a final farewell. Sporadic moments flashed rapidly through his mind as his finger hovered over the button that will trigger his demise. He recalled how only a few months ago, Duo had scolded him for his reckless attempt to kill himself by self-detonation in Siberia. He remembered how prior to the battle Duo had pleaded with him not to do anything foolish. He asked him to stay alive. Duo was the only person to ever confront him with such a request. His life, for whatever reason, was important to Duo. Not because he was necessary as a soldier; not because Duo considered him some _hero_. No; Duo valued his life because... just because. And that was what made him such a cherished friend.

Heero hoped that even while history might one day forget all about him, or worse – twist his tale in a distorted perspective written by some clueless stranger – Duo will still remember him for who he was as a human being: his friend. His relationship with Duo defined him as a person, affirming and validating him as someone other than a soldier. He wished to be remembered the way Duo perceived him, because Duo was the only one to ever bother looking beyond The Soldier. In fact, it would be best if he'll be left out of any future historic account of the war. He didn't wish to go down in history as some nameless, faceless, _hero_ who sacrificed his life in an epic battle for a noble cause. Such characters belonged in a fairy tale books rather than history books. No one but Duo knew him well enough to write about him as more than a stereotype. He took comfort in knowing that at least one person will remember him as more than a superficial character in some textbook.

Keeping that in mind, he felt more at ease as he resigned to his fate. His finger began to press the trigger that would end his own life.

An enemy suit stormed into the reactor chamber room: the devilish Epyon Gundam, piloted by Zechs Merquise. The man whom he had waged battle against, was there to stop him from killing himself.

 _'There's one more thing required to attain total peace,'_ Zechs called over the open com-link channel; _'and that's a strong heart that can empathize with people – a heart like yours!'_ he declared firmly. _'You're too pure and too kind, I guess that this is what gives you the right to live.'_

It all happened so fast. Heero had no time to argue with such a preposterous claim. He watched, staggered, as Zechs tore through the reactor with Epyon's saber. As explosions ripped the Libra station apart, Heero maneuvered Wing ZERO out of the flaming wrecks. He sped away, distancing himself from danger.

ZERO pricked his mind like a sharp needle jabbing his consciousness; the computer was warning him of danger. He turned to the radar screen, disappointed to see that one of the four sections of the large space station has failed to disintegrate in the core breach. Each of the four sections contained an independent engine with the destructive power of dozens of nuclear warheads. The large chunk continued plummeting towards the Earth, threatening to obliterate life by deadly nuclear winter.

Gundam 05 suddenly emerged from the wreckage-littered battlefield, carrying Wing ZERO's powerful buster-rifle. Wufei must have found it floating in space, where Heero had lost it. The second he handed him the rifle, Heero knew what he had to do. Mission accepted: he had to beat the odds and destroy the falling piece of the Libra station before it hit Earth.

Pushing the Wing ZERO Gundam to its absolute limit, he raced ahead of the huge chunk of metal plunging into Earth's upper atmosphere. The Gundam was not designed to endure re-entry in its humanoid form, but that was the only form in which it could fire the powerful rifle. The heat overloaded every system. The outer plating disintegrated piece by piece. Consoles went haywire all around him, short circuiting, flashing and beeping frantically as systems crashed one by one. He could not get a weapon's lock on the falling station and the longer it took to aim, the faster his Gundam crumbled.

The temperature inside the cockpit became intolerably hot. He had taken his helmet off at some point during the fight and now he regretted it. The searing heat blistered his face. Blood oozed into his eyes and down his flushed sweaty features. His lungs singed. It was too hot to breathe. His heart raced erratically as his blood pumped blazingly through his veins. He was going to die – it felt as though he was being evaporated – but not before he'll destroy the menace hurtling towards the planet below.

Wing ZERO shook violently, falling apart. All of a sudden, there was a loud long beep as the computer informed him that it finally locked on target. A powerful surge of determination coursed through him; a rush of adrenaline driving him with an overwhelming will to live.

 _I will survive,_ he realized and might have even called the words out vocally; there was no way of telling with the excruciating clamor all around him. His blood pounded loudly in his ears as he pressed the trigger, squeezing his fingers around the pilot-stick as hard as he possibly could. An enormously powerful burst of energy lurched out of Wing ZERO's canon and blasted the remaining piece of the Libra station into oblivion.

In a last effort to preserve both his Gundam and his life, Heero flung two shaking arms around, clutching desperately onto the handles and valves that allowed him to change into flight-mode, transforming the enormous humanoid fighting machine into a spacecraft able to hastily fly out of Earth atmosphere and out of orbit.

A great explosion flashed the dark vacuum of space with a blinding white blaze fueled by the power of a dozen nuclear warheads. Wing ZERO emerged out of the light in Neo-Bird-Mode, distancing itself from the explosion.

Libra was destroyed. The planet was safe. The ESUN and the Colonies called for a ceasefire. Mission accomplished. The war was finally over.

*             *             *

OZ and Colony rebel forces established a command center on the MO2 resource satellite in Earth's higher orbit. Survivors of every faction were making their way towards the small artificial moon. The satellite's Space Traffic Control tower directed the multitude of space-crafts and mobile suits heading towards its hangars and open landing decks. The Gundams were designated a separate and isolated hangar which was usually used as a cargo bay for resources mined on MO2.

Gundams 03, 04 and 05 landed successfully. STC had a little more trouble guiding the damaged 01 Gundam into the hangar. Heero had to fly in blind, for nearly 90% of ZERO's view-screens were malfunctioning badly and some have blacked out completely. He had great difficulty controlling Wing ZERO even in flight-mode and was coming in hot. The controls have fried; nothing seemed to work at full efficiency and he had to manually compensate for almost every crucial system. At some point, just before landing, life support systems also crashed. The emergency oxygen supply kicked in with a low hiss as it was released into the cockpit to keep him alive for a while longer. It was a rough emergency landing, but somehow he made it in one piece, give or take a few casing-panels. A collective sigh of relief could be heard inside the STC tower, transmitted over the open com-link into ZERO's cockpit speakers. The cockpit fell silent.

Although finally out of danger, Heero's tense muscles refused to relax. He couldn't move and simply remained strapped frozen to the pilot's chair, leaning over damaged consoles. His fist was still clenched around the pilot-stick, unable to let go. Letting go of it meant letting go of the only life he had ever known: the life of a soldier. The war was over; he just ended it with one last shot – and survived. Now what?

Sweat trickled into his eyes. Blinking it away, Heero turned to his only fully operational view-screen, observing dully as Trowa helped an injured Quatre out of his Gundam and escorted him out of the hangar. His weary eyes searched the view screen for the 02 Gundam. He had to make sure that Duo also made it out alive. He couldn't see Deathscythe or its pilot. He had to pan the cameras left or right if he wanted to search for him, but the very concept was exhausting.

He fell back against the pilot's chair and closed his eyes, fatigued. The air inside the cockpit was terribly hot. The metal components around him were still radiating heat, crackling quietly. Sweat accumulated on his brow, dripping down his flushed face in salty streams. He couldn't even reach an arm up to wipe them off. Everything ached and throbbed unbearably. Every breath sweltered in his lungs like acid.

His raspy breath came out in quick, short and urgent gasps for air; he almost sounded panicked. He realized that he was panting harshly, filling the silent cockpit with the sound of his hoarse wheezing. If he didn't know any better, he would have said that he was hyperventilating hysterically; however the painful stinging sensation in his lungs and airways suggested otherwise.

He coughed loudly, gasping raucously for air and the agony got even worse. The retching refused to stop. Coughing desperately, he finally let go of the pilot-stick and strained a quivering arm forward to reach for the button that opened the craft's canopy. It wouldn't budge; it was fused shut. He was trapped in a burning furnace! He had to get out of there!

Coughing desperately, he punched the button again and again. Nothing happened. He pushed back against the seat, raising his legs up, and started kicking the canopy forcefully while gasping for air like a drowned man. He was straining himself for nothing; the cockpit door was stuck. He slumped back against the pilot chair, his legs dropping onto the damaged consoles. He lay there, drowning in his own sweat and struggling to breathe. It was so hot. He was suffocating. He tried to gasp, but there was no more air in his lungs. He blacked out.

*             *             *

Metal creaked and sizzled, screeching and wailing until it caved, broke and crashed down loudly.

"Heero?" a timid female voice called his name. "Oh my God! Heero! Heero!" it then cried urgently. _Relena_ ; he recognized dimly. He tried to move, to reach out, but couldn't. He lay melted against the pilot's chair, unmoving. He tried to make some sort of sound, to indicate he was alive, but nothing came out. His lips had scalded; they were badly blistered and glued together. His tongue stung terribly, thick and heavy in his mouth. He was being liquefied by the heat, plunging further into darkness.

"Move over, God dammit!" someone else shouted; his anxious tone carried a faint Southern American accent and was laced with panic.

 _Duo_ , he realized with relief; _he's alright..._

"How da fuck didn't any of ya notice he hasn't come outta there yet!" Duo exclaimed furiously. "He musta been roasting in there for nearly an hour!"

 _They forgot;_ Heero wanted to tell him, but the words died while still in his throat, evaporated by the heat scorching his lungs. People always forgot about him. They knew that he preferred to fend for himself, but even he needed to be taken cared of once in a while, as all humans did. Only Duo seemed to realize that.

He felt himself being lifted out of the chair, carried away by strong, dependable arms; the arms of a friend, his only friend, the only one who seemed capable of understanding him. Relena never did, even though she tried to get to know him as more than a _hero_. He appreciated her for that and for so much more, just not the same way he valued Duo.

 _Where were you?_ He wanted to ask him; _where were you when I needed you..._ Did Duo forgot about him too?

"Shit Heero, I'm sorry," Duo said as though he had heard his question. "I only got here a while ago and I was sure you were already up 'n about, but when I didn't see ya anywhere I—"

"I don't think he can hear you," Relena interrupted ignorantly. "We should get him to the infirmary right away."

"Where else do you think I'm headin'? Jesus, girl, would you get outta da fuckin' way already?!" Duo grumbled irritably and Heero would have sniggered if he could. Duo could be such a mother hen when it came to taking care of him. While he usually responded resentfully to such fretful care, it now occurred to him that he actually cherished it. He needed Duo's care. No one else seemed to care for him the way Duo did and maybe now that the battles were finally over no one would think less of him as a soldier if he actually admitted how much he enjoyed such acts of kindness.

He felt himself rock roughly, his saggy limbs swinging wildly back and forth, jolting with each step as Duo ran hurriedly towards their destination. He could hear Relena's running footsteps right behind them.

"Hang on, buddy," Duo whispered to him anxiously. A rush of cold air gushed by him. He inhaled in thankfully, filling his lungs with the cool breeze, though they still burnt agonizingly. He coughed weakly, feeling an aching blockage forming in his throat. It was so hard to breathe...

"I ain't gonna let you fall at the finish-line, Heero," Duo assured him; "It'd be kinda stupid to die now so you hang on, ya hear?"

Duo really did care about him. If it had been in his nature, he would have smiled with relief. Instead he just felt grateful for a friendship that allowed him to be a person now that he didn't have to be a soldier anymore.

*             *             *

Two hours later found Heero at the crowded and chaotic MO2 infirmary, surrounded by injured enemy soldiers. The whole floor was being used as a field-hospital, filled with rows and rows of stretchers, all packed with casualties. Doctors, nurses and field medics of every faction moved hastily from bed to bed, trying to keep up with the injured who kept pouring into the small sickbay. MO2 was not a military facility; it wasn't equipped to handle the vast amount of people who boarded it after the battle was over. Since it was a neutral civilian station, MO2 did not discriminate between factions. Enemies were placed on adjacent stretchers, regardless of the fact that one might have even caused the other's injuries.

While being treated by two medics, Heero had spotted Quatre somewhere between the many OZ soldiers filling the medical bay. The blond pilot was unconscious and intubated, recuperating from surgery.

There weren't enough beds for all the injured, and OZ soldiers seemed to be in higher priority since the majority of the medical staff was from OZ's ranks. After being tended to, Heero was left to sit on a rickety wooden chair in an isolated corner of the bustling makeshift hospital. An IV line fed his dehydrated body cold fluids. He sat bent tiredly over an empty medical-supply cart, supported by his elbow as he leaned against the cart while holding onto a strapless respiratory facial mask pressed against his airways. A couple of thick gauzes were placed on his face as well, where skin had blistered and flesh had burnt and bled.

His hair was wet; his long bangs dripped cold water onto his pale face and trembling torso. The medics had submersed him in an ice-water bath to quickly and most efficiently lower his body's dangerously high temperature. He actually felt his heart come to a full stop by the shocking cold. OZ's combat casualty care bore much resemblance to their torturous interrogation methods. The medics did what they could to keep a patient alive and moved on hastily to the next. There was no time for proper medical treatment and battlefield medicine had its own rules and ethics, especially when treating former enemies.

In their rush, the medics didn't even remove his flight suit. His black skintight space-suit was drenched in water. He was shuddering from cold, fever and fatigue, fighting exhaustion in an attempt to keep his arm up and breathe through the oxygen mask he was barely holding up.

The worse of his injuries were the inhalation burns in his lungs, lips, tongue, and inside of his mouth and nose: a result of breathing the extremely hot air inside Wing ZERO's cockpit. Fortunately, the massive Gundam had provided adequate protection from the deadly heat. The damage his airways have suffered was not as severe as to require intubation with mechanical ventilation, but the swelling in his upper airways created a blockage that made it very difficult for him to breathe.

He closed his aching eyes, feeling faint. He leaned heavily onto his arm, supported by the wobbly cart, and listened to his own wheezy breath echo loudly within the oxygen mask. His arm quivered, unable to hold onto the mask any longer. His body began to feel heavy and numb as his consciousness slowly slipped away.

Someone placed a warm blanket over his shoulders and Heero jerked awake just before tumbling forward in unconsciousness. The blissful heat tingled pleasantly from his shoulders and down his trembling torso, helping him fight off the numbing need to sleep.

"Them son of a bitches," he heard Duo grumble crossly; "they just _dumped_ you here like this?"

Heero opened his weary eyes. Duo was standing in front of him, looking tired and pale with worry. He too was dressed in a black flight-suit similar to the one he was wearing, bearing a few tears that exposed bruised and slashed patches of flesh. A black smudge of grease streaked one of his cheeks and there was a scabbing cut on the other. His long braid was disheveled, coming undone. Otherwise, Heero noted gratefully that his fellow pilot seemed fine.

"I just came over from where they put Quatre," Duo continued; "at least they managed to find _him_ a bed. I'm gonna go find you one too – I don't care if I haffta kick some damn Ozzie off of it!"

"Duo—" Heero rasped through the oxygen mask and then choked on a watery cough. Mucus and fluid were forming in his lungs. One doctor had briskly mentioned that he would most likely develop pneumonia in a few days and pumped him full of antibiotics via the IV. He wheezed loudly, pressing the oxygen mask tighter against his face and inhaled loudly. He wanted to tell Duo that there was no need to fuss over him, but instead he huffed heavily, struggling to catch his breath. His lungs ached terribly, faltering and fluttering with each aching gasp for air.

"Shit Heero, next time keep your damn helmet on, would'ja?" Duo muttered fretfully, crossing his arms over his chest as he glared snappily at the injured young pilot. "Why do you keep doing these stupid things? You were trying to get yourself killed again, weren't you – you God damned _knucklehead!_ "

Gasping shallowly for air, Heero shook his head 'no'. He wished to tell Duo that he had been eager to survive for a change, but speaking was beyond him at the moment. He couldn't even keep himself upright anymore and began to topple forward.

"Fuck, Heero," Duo mumbled solemnly and caught him before he slid off the chair. He placed two hands under Heero's armpits, hoisting him up. "C'mon," he said as he helped the injured pilot to his shaky feet, mindful of his liquid and oxygen supply lines. Heero couldn't stand; his legs felt watery and quickly gave way. Duo kept him upright by holding him under his armpits. He settled him down in the corner, sitting on the cold floor. He adjusted the IV and oxygen tubes and sat down next to Heero. He leaned against the wall behind them and pulled the wounded teenager towards him. Heero realized that Duo was expecting him to lie against his torso and immediately froze, resisting Duo's gentle pull.

"C'mon Heero, don't be stupid," Duo muttered in frustration; "You need ta lie down for a while and hey – if your best bud can't hold'ja, then who can? C'mon man, put your head down. No one would think less of you 'n if they do – fuck 'em. You need rest."

Heero only succumbed because he was so very tired. He sat between Duo's spread legs, leaning backwards against the braided pilot's torso and tilted his head down into the soft crease between Duo's arm and shoulder. Duo shifted his arm to cradle Heero's head and then inched his lower body away from the wall behind him; just enough so that his upper body was in a slight incline, allowing Heero to lean back more comfortably. If it was any other person, he would have jerked up to his feet at the feeling of another man's hips and groin rubbing against the small of his back; with Duo, however, he didn't quite mind the awkwardly intimate position he now found himself in. In fact, it was much easier to breathe now, and was grateful for the thoughtful gesture. Duo would most likely feel the painful pressure in his spine soon enough, but knowing him, Heero was certain that Duo won't budge.

He felt Duo adjust the blanket around him, pulling it up to his chest. The other pilot's body heat engulfed him and the cover kept him warm. The warmth of another human being felt surprisingly comforting. He could not recall the last time he's been held by another person, but the sensation raised dim and distant feelings of security and peace. He closed his eyes and released a long, gratified, sigh, sinking against the warm body behind him.

"Damn you're wet," he heard Duo mutter in a disdainful manner that slightly emphasized his usually faint Southern accent. Heero decided that he was quite fond of Duo's coarse intonation. It was unique and very distinctively Duo: rough, warm and tough as nails.

"As if these damn suits aren't tight enough," the braided teenager grunted with dismay, pulling at his turtleneck collar.

Heero coughed; it was the only response he was capable of at the moment. He was still gripping the oxygen mask, pressing it weakly over his mouth and nose.

"Hey, give it here," Duo murmured softly and took the mask away, holding it for Heero. He was grateful to finally let go of it and allow his aching arm to also rest, draping it over his chest. Although his every muscle ached, his singed lungs and airways stung and he felt smothered by his snug wet flight-suit, Heero managed to let go and finally let his body relax, slouching tiredly as he summoned slumber.

"You realize you just saved the fucking planet, right Heero?" Duo spoke up again, somewhat awed, like he had just realized it.

"Mm..." he let out an incoherent, drowsy, reply. He couldn't dwell on it right now; he was so tired and Duo felt so warm...

Duo snorted. "You'd think they'd show a little more courtesy now would'ja?"

Heero's only response was a pathetic choked gurgle. He couldn't even cough anymore; it was too exhausting.

"Fuck 'em anyway," Duo shrugged, rocking Heero's head when he moved. "We survived, so fuck 'em. Yanno I promised Quatre we'd celebrate with champagne if we ever get outta Libra alive? Would'ja listen to me, promising that kinda fancy shit? I shoulda promised everyone a round of beer or sumthin', I dunno. I don't think Muslims drink, yanno? Hell, da fuck am I gonna get any of that shit in this joint anyway, right?"

"Hmm..." Heero managed a sleepy response.

"Shit, I'm babbling. Sorry, man. I'm all hyped up, yanno? All this adrenaline in ma system. It's gonna be one nasty comedown in the morning..."

Yes, he supposed that Duo should know what a _nasty comedown_ felt like, considering his past as an addict. Although... how did he even know about that? Duo never told him about it, did he? How could he possibly know of Duo's past habit? He was fairly certain that Duo has never shared that particular part of his past. Perhaps he had picked up on it somehow, or maybe it was just a dream he remembered as though it had been real. That happened sometimes. Sometimes ZERO showed him stuff and he remembered it as though he'd actually been there. It was like remembering someone else's dream. Maybe he was wrong about Duo being an ex-junkie; it could have been a dream. It didn't matter anyway. He was in no position to judge. Besides, he was too tired to dwell on it right now and Duo was still talking...

"Okay, sorry, I'll be quiet now," Duo laughed nervously, as he always did when apologizing earnestly; "Try to get some sleep. I'll be right here to make sure no Ozzies walk all over you while crossing the room, okay?"

"...yeah... thanks..." Heero mumbled appreciatively. He was asleep in no time; safe in the arms of the only person he could trust to watch over him while he slept in a room full of Ozzies; the only person whose presence was soothing and dependable enough for him to let his guard down and sleep soundly, without having to keep an ear out for any danger. Duo will take care of him; he'll make sure Ozzies won't walk over him... That was what friends were for after all. It felt good to fall asleep in the arms of a friend.

*             *             *

He awoke lying in a hospital bed. Duo must have managed to get him one. He could just picture the havoc the young pilot must have raised until someone got him a stretcher to lie on. He felt warm and comfortable, covered by a soft blanket. He was no longer wearing his tight flight-suit, rather just the simple pair of black spandex shorts and a tank top he wore underneath. The articles were no longer wet, so he assumed that quite some time had passed since he had fallen asleep on the floor. An IV line still ran into his forearm, feeding him fluids. A thin tube was attached under his nostrils, supplying him with oxygen.

The infirmary was relatively quiet. Things seemed to have settled down while he was unconscious. He felt a little better and was grateful to have been given the opportunity to get some proper rest. He couldn't recall the last time he had slept so well.

An itching feeling kept nagging him to get back on his feet and _do_ something, but there was nothing more to be done. A part of him wished to get back to the hangar and start repairs on Wing ZERO, but the other part objected. Why rush into repairs? The Gundams were no longer needed. The war was over; his role as a soldier was complete. Like Wing ZERO, he had just become obsolete.

A sudden sense of hopelessness drained him of purpose, leaving him hollow inside. He was lost without battle; useless, unnecessary. Even if he did complete his one last task of bringing Wing ZERO back into full operational mode – what would he do then? What purpose would they serve? Was there any place in this new world for such a lethal weapon or its pilot?

He tried to ignore the irksome sense of despair. He should go find Duo. Surely the 02 pilot has figured things out by now. Duo always seemed to know the answer as to what a _"normal person"_ would do. He could ask for his guidance. Duo could help him see the good in surviving the war. So far he has been the only one capable of showing him the benefits of cherishing one's life.

Groaning quietly, Heero sat up. The blanket fell down to his lap, exposing his torso and the green tank top he was wearing. He reached a hand to carefully remove the intravenous infusion line from his forearm. He also detached the oxygen tube from under his nose and the bandages off his injured face. He slipped into his black flight-suit (which also dried by now) and made his way out of the infirmary on wobbling legs.

It took him a long while to find the hangar where the Gundams were stored and by then he felt exhausted again. OZ has posted a security detail outside the hangar doors. At first, he tensed with alarm at the sight of the two armed guards; however they recognized him and allowed him to enter without provocation. It made sense that the Gundams be kept under guard. If they fell into the wrong hands, it would surely spell trouble and Heero didn't feel up to another fight at the moment... or ever. He was done fighting.

He stepped into the hangar, eyeing the guards warily as they let him through. They were two young men in their mid-twenties. One guard, a tall and lanky bearded redhead, observed Heero coolly with a pair of calm green eyes. He looked like he had something to say, but wisely kept his mouth shut. Heero turned away, ignoring him after had asserting that the young redheaded Ozzie didn't pose a threat. He had no way of knowing that years later he would even call the man his friend.

Inside the hangar, Gundams 02 to 05 stood towering over the battered 01 Gundam which remained in its spacecraft-mode. Each of the massive humanoid fighting machines bore the scars of battle, although their damage seemed negligible when compared to Wing ZERO. If he truly wanted to get ZERO out of MO2 under its own power, he sure had his work cut out for him.

A metal tool clanked loudly as it was dropped to the metallic floor, drawing Heero's attention to the Shenlong Gundam. He spotted the 05 pilot at the foot of the massive machine. Wufei was already hard at work on repairs. Heero never spent much time with the Chinese pilot; they hardly shared a mission in their extensive battle-repertoire, which is why he addressed him straight and to the point:

"Where's Duo?" His voice was raspy, screechy. It hurt to talk. He stifled a cough with his fist.

"Didn't see him," Wufei replied curtly, without turning to face Heero. "I think he made it here a while after I landed."

That much Heero already knew. Wheezing silently, his breath labored from the strain of walking about so soon, Heero gazed numbly at the other pilot. The determination in Wufei's eyes suggested that he still felt full of purpose. Heero was a bit envious. He felt terribly lonely; as if he was the only one feeling so lost without battle. Sighing quietly, he turned to leave the hangar.

"Yuy," he heard Wufei call after him and stopped abruptly, tensing as though the sound of his last name— his _code name_ – hit him like a punch to his gut. It suddenly occurred to him that without a war to fight, the alias was also redundant. The name _Heero_ Yuy personified the ideals he had fought for; it never represented him as who he truly was. But without the code name, he will be nameless. His real name was nothing but a vague, lost memory he could only search for in a dream; and even if he could recall what it was, he no longer deserved the name his mother gave him. Still, the lack of a name will only belittle his humanity further, so at least for now, the alias Heero Yuy would have to do.

He turned back around. Wufei was still facing his Gundam as he worked.

"Should you even be walking around?" The 05 pilot asked harshly. It was a question Heero often asked himself: was he worthy of walking among the living? Was he worthy of his survival?

"I'm fine," he whispered hoarsely, answering the question in the context Wufei was referring to. A series of throaty coughs burst out of his lungs and wracked through him. He felt anything but fine, yet he refused to return to the infirmary before finding Duo.

"Wing ZERO took heavy damage," Wufei observed; his tone suggested that he expected him to do something about it, but Heero felt that there was no rush now that there were no more battles to fight. Hours later, he will regret not tending to ZERO while he still had the chance.

He turned to walk away without responding to Wufei's remark. Coughing weakly with each step, he wobbled tiredly out of the hangar, wondering where else Duo could possibly be.

*             *             *

The braided Gundam pilot was five decks below the hangar. Roaming the grand mining station while he waited for Heero to come to, he had stumbled onto the supply deck. Enormous warehouses and storage rooms stretched behind every door. They were filled with various supplies, all stored in large wooden crates. Considering that the ample provisions could probably sustain the station's crew for a lifetime, Duo surmised that it won't hurt anyone if he'll _"borrow"_ a few things here and there. Surely he could find some form of liquor in there, somewhere. He had spent the last few hours searching for just that.

His scavenging produced some interesting results. He had stumbled onto a box full of small ration packs; they were silvery bags filled with liquids. According to the labels, the rations contained root beer; not exactly an alcoholic beverage, but good enough to make a point. He stacked as many ration packs as he possibly could in his arms and retraced his steps back to the service elevator.

On his way, a strange abnormality caught his eye. One of the doors stood out oddly; it was wooden instead of metallic. It was an old fashioned door, its panels decorated with thin golden stripes. A sign on the door announced it as:

**EDDY'S PRIVATE REC-ROOM!**

**NO TRESPASSING!**

**VIOLATORS WILL BE SHOT**

**SURVIVORS WILL BE SHOT AGAIN!**

Duo chuckled. "Good one, _Eddy,_ " he mumbled and reached for the doorknob. Any person funny enough to designate a private room for himself and hang such a sign on the door surely had some _real_ booze lying around!

The door was locked, but that never stopped Duo from entering a room. A few of the space rations he was cradling in his arms floated away in low gravity as he reached an arm to unzip one of his flight suit's pockets. He retrieved a small folded combat knife – a trusty instrument he has been carrying with him since his days on the streets of L2. He opened the jagged switchblade with a flick of his finger. The lock gave way easily and Duo peeked curiously into _"Eddy's Room"_.

"Da fuck's wrong with this guy!" His crude Southern tone echoed within the small, metal-cased room. He expected some sort of a messy _man cave_ , but instead he found what looked like a country-house den! There was a window opposite of the door, offering a view of outer space. Currently, it overlooked what remained of the battlefield around MO2. Metallic wreckage littered the blackness of space, floating lazily in the desolate vacuum, glimmering under the faint Earth-light. There was a heavy wooden desk stationed under the window. Tall bookcases towered from floor to ceiling on each side of the room; they were packed with books and decorative artifacts.

"That's some perverted shit," Duo muttered to himself. It looked like _dear ol' Eddy_ escaped to this room to _read_ , rather than drink with his pals. "You missed the whole point, Eddy-boy," he snarled, shaking his head in mock-disappointment. He turned to close the door and leave. Just then, a twinkle within the room caught his eyes. He turned back, intrigued. A smile graced his handsome youthful face as he realized that he had just stumbled onto a treasure: Among the many decorative pieces resting on the shelves, were a few crystal champagne toasting flutes.

Stepping inside, Duo let go of the rations he was holding, allowing them to scatter and float about the room. He reached for the champagne glasses.

"Well, well, Eddy-boy, looks like you came through after all!"

*             *             *

When Duo returned to the infirmary, Heero's bed was already occupied by another patient. Disappointed, he headed to Quatre's bed instead. He had hoped to find Heero there once he pulled the curtain aside, but only Trowa was sitting next to the bed. The 03 pilot looked up to greet him. He seemed weary with worry, but otherwise calm. Trowa was always calm.

Quatre also turned to welcome Duo with a faint smile. The young blond pilot was sitting in his hospital bed, dressed in light blue patients' scrubs. He looked pale and fatigued, but offered Duo a soft smile nonetheless.

"Duo, where have you been?"

"Around," the braided teenager shrugged carelessly and then frowned. "Heero and Wufei aren't here, huh? Figures," he mumbled as he closed the curtain behind him. "How you feeling Q-man?"

"I'll be alright," the young blond strained to smile; "Nothing vital has been damaged."

"You should take it easy for a while, just in case," Trowa reminded him.

"Speaking of which," Duo cut-in; "You guys seen Heero anywhere?"

The two other pilots shook their heads.

"Maybe he went back for his Gundam," Trowa offered. "I know Wufei has already started repairs. Try looking for him at the hangar."

"Yeah, I guess that makes sense," Duo muttered, his eyes worried. "The damn _knucklehead_ never could sit still for more than a damn second."

"What have you got there?" Quatre asked as he noted that Duo's hands were hidden behind his back.

Duo grinned naughtily. "Just a little sumthin' to celebrate with," he said as he presented his treasure. "I told ya we'll raise a toast, now didn't I Quatre?"

The dainty blond teenager smiled faintly. "Duo, where did you find these?"

Duo offered him one crystal flute and another for Trowa. "You have a guy named Eddy to thank for those," he joked. "I couldn't find any champagne though, sorry. The dude seems to be more into books than booze. Go figure."

Quatre laughed. "You're something else, you know that? Is there anything you can't find?"

"Usually that would be Heero," Duo snarled playfully and they all made a toast for a life to be lived out in peace.

*             *             *

Duo left the infirmary to search for Heero. It was way too soon for the injured and stubborn adolescent to be up and about and Duo planned to drag him back to bed as soon as he found him.

MO2 was _enormous_. Duo searched for the Wing ZERO pilot deck by deck. Heero wasn't in the hangar; some redheaded Ozzie told him that he was there a while ago and then he left. Duo tried the mess-hall next. It was filled with MO2 personnel and damn Ozzies, but no Heero. He even took a peek into the main control room, but only a stern Lady Une and a baffled Relena turned to glance his way. He winked flirtatiously at the clueless girl, retreated quickly and resumed his search.

He bumped into Howard somewhere along the way. The old engineer offered to take a look at 'Scythe and Duo dismissed him with a _'whatever'_. Then he thought about it and added: _'take a look at ZERO instead, okay? Thanks!'_

Howard grumbled something unpleasant as a reply, but Duo knew the old man will come through for them as always.

Eventually Duo found himself on the station's top floor. It was an observation deck: a large empty hall with a huge panoramic window overlooking the Earth below. The planet's bright blue halo illuminated the room with dim bluish light.

He smiled when he spotted Heero sitting on the window ledge, looking down at the Earth. The young pilot was dressed in his flight-suit again. One of his legs rested casually on the ledge and the other was propped on it in an angle, allowing him to rest his arm on his kneecap as he gazed drearily at the view.

"There you are!" Duo called and his voice echoed within the large metallic hall. "I've been looking allova for ya! Da fuck you left sickbay so soon? You missed our little Christmas party..." he admonished Heero jokingly as he approached. "I told ya I'll get champagne! Well, sorta," he shrugged helplessly; "The glasses were empty, but it's the thought that counts, right?"

The Wing ZERO pilot turned away from the window, frowning. Duo noted that Heero had taken the small gauzes off his injured face, exposing two patches of scalded red skin. He also noted the obvious signs of fatigue on his friend's pale features.

"You should be in bed, Heero;" Duo scolded more softly this time. "Da fuck are you doing here all alone anyway?" he asked as he took a seat next to Heero.

"Thinking," the teenage boy replied solemnly and turned back to look out the large window. The pale blue Earthlight washed over his whitish face, making him appear eerily ghostly.

"Oh," Duo let out dumbly. "About what?"

He was surprised to hear Heero release a hushed sigh.

"Past... present... future..." the teenage soldier replied bitterly as he gazed down at the Earth; "Mostly the future."

Duo chuckled. "Jesus man, that sure sounds like a lot to think about right now. You should relax! Get into the Christmas spirit or whatever. I know! Let's get wasted! I'm sure there's actual booze somewhere around here. C'mon, I found the supply deck. We can go on a scavenger's hunt!"

"Getting into the Christmas spirit entails getting drunk?" Heero turned to him, quirking a puzzled eyebrow.

"Hell yeah! I mean, okay, it's mostly about diggin' world peace and all that shit – quite a suitable holiday to end a war in, right? – but I guess that most people just care about spiking the eggnog, yanno what I mean?"

There was a strange, almost mystified look in Heero's eyes. Duo has never seen those Prussian blue eyes shimmer so expressively. For a split second he thought he was looking at an actual teenage boy rather than a cold and calculated soldier. It was weird seeing Heero so humane. The Earthlight must be playing tricks on him, or Heero was already losing it.

"Christmas is a holiday for peace?" Heero asked to clarify, his voice almost childlike, curious. Duo felt himself falter inside. Heero didn't even know what Christmas was all about and the realization stung. It always hurt to discover time and time again just how much of the human experience Heero has been denied of while growing up. Not that he had many _magical holidays_ in his miserable repertoire, but at least he was privileged enough to spend a Christmas or two at the Maxwell Church.

"Uhm, yeah," he replied shakily; "among other things, I guess. What did you think it was about?"

"I don't know," Heero admitted bitterly and turned to look out the window again. He stared at his own reflection gravely. "As a child I always assumed it was about the presents," he mumbled quietly.

Duo tried to offer a smile of sympathy, but it faltered. He could feel so much sorrow and disillusionment behind Heero's small confession. It hurt as though those feelings were his own.

"Well, yeah, but... see, someone once tried to teach me that Christmas is about the birth of Christ, but I was never into that sorta shit. If you ask me, this ridiculously overbearing holiday is mostly about spending too much money buying presents for people who don't even appreciate it. Christmas is basically about keeping the wheels of capitalism going, know what I'm sayin'? Jesus ain't nuthin' but a reason to shop 'til you drop!" he finished with a bitter chuckle.

"J is dead," Heero suddenly blurted out, already considering something else entirely. He did that sometimes, when he had nothing more to say on certain subject. Duo was used to it.

"Yeah, well, good riddance. I never liked the old fart anyway. Freaked the shit outta me. Fucking insane, I tell ya. I take G over that shithead any day."

"He's also dead," Heero reminded him.

"Oh, yeah," Duo chuckled as he realized it too, but he didn't care all that much. While Prof. G wasn't a big of a loony as Dr. J, Duo still didn't consider him worthy of mourning. Deep down, he was still furious with the old man for subjecting him to a brutal detox and then quickly shoving him into a God damned Gundam's cockpit. He was still shaking uncontrollably during the first few lessons, but by the time he was sent down to Earth to fight, drugs were a habit he had learned to live without. He wondered if in fact he should be thankful for what G did... Nah, the son-of-a-bitch didn't deserve it, even if he did spend his last moments trying to save the fucking planet Earth.

"Well, what are you gonna do," he shrugged dismissively; "At least we won't haffta worry about them crazy old goons no more."

"You were the last to see them alive?" Heero stated in a rhetorical question.

"I guess... I gave 'em a ride over to Peacemillion." Duo frowned. "Why?"

"No reason," Heero mumbled, avoiding the question, and Duo scoffed.

"Please don't tell me you were hoping for some kind of noble last words? You of all people shoulda figured that J was a total _psycho_. I don't think he even wanted you to survive this war, let alone leave you a message telling you what to do if you ever did."

"I guess not," Heero sighed. "But as long as he was alive, I knew what I had to do..." he confessed, casting his gaze down sadly.

Duo studied him quietly for a moment, concerned.

"Do you _really_ need some maniac ordering you around so you'd know what to do with yourself? Jesus, Heero, gimme a break. You're supposed ta be hittin' the freakin' roof with joy and instead your mopping around like... like..."

"...like some lost puppy," Heero exhaled with a troubled sigh. "I know," he murmured, his gaze still fixed on the floor. "I can't help it," he admitted quietly; "It's just that... there's nothing left for me now."

Duo felt bad for being so disrespectful. He understood where Heero's melancholy was coming from. Everything they believed in and aspired for has finally been realized, leaving nothing but emptiness where ideology had once filled their hearts. He offered his friend a soft, sympathetic smile.

"So that's why you've been sitting here alone, trying ta figure shit out on your own?"

Heero nodded slowly. He looked up, his expression upset. They were sitting pretty close together and Duo could see how each dim ray of Earthlight caught in Heero's intense blue eyes, exposing more than a dozen different shades of blue composing his irises. He had never seen Heero so... _bare_ ; so open. It actually frightened him a little: was Heero already falling apart without a cause?

"So what have you figured out so far?" Duo asked carefully, offering a soft smile.

"I was weighing my options," Heero spoke slowly, pensively. He took a deep breath and released it with a sigh before he continued. "I was thinking that maybe we should..." His voice trailed off quietly and he paused, thinking, rephrasing. "If this ceasefire will prove to be permanent, then perhaps we..." Again Heero stopped, casting his gaze down to the floor. He was hesitant, which was very unlike him. Duo was curious. Heero was never very good with words, but he was never ashamed of expressing himself either; sometimes a little too bluntly. Heero was always true to what it felt and those emotions were always raw, crude and intense; the words he chose usually manifested that very quality. So if Heero was struggling so much to find the right thing to say and the proper way to say it, then it must be extremely important and Duo waited breathlessly for him to continue.

After a silent moment, Heero looked up again. He pressed his lips together resolutely as he leveled his gaze with Duo's.

"Duo," he began slowly, "I believe it would be beneficial if we stick together for a while."

Duo laughed at the overly-dramatic statement. "Oh yeah? Why?" he asked sneakily, smirking smugly for he now realized what Heero was trying to say. He'll be damned if he won't make him say it clearly.

Heero huffed a lock of hair out of his eyes crustily. "You know why," he grunted.

"Oh, yeah, sure: you need my _supreme talents_ to help you fix that deep-fried _chicken-wing_ of yours... right?"

"That's hardly it," Heero snapped.

"Well _good_ , cuz I've already asked Howard to take a look at ZERO so you could catch a break for a change. That bird is totally fried, man. You need all the help you can get."

"I am not concerned about Wing ZERO," Heero muttered gruffly. "You're being purposely annoying," he accused.

"And you're being purposely _vague_ when all you have to say is – Duo, you're my best bud, I love ya to death 'n I wanna hang with ya forever!" He grinned teasingly and Heero snorted.

"Don't be so full of yourself."

"Oh c'mon, soldier-boy! Truth or dare: tell me why I should stick around."

"Because neither of us has a place to go to now that the war is over," Heero muttered irritably, avoiding eye contact to hide his discomfort as he was compelled to speak the truth. That was the unspoken rule of their little game, an excuse to be honest with one another, a reason to dare and show some genuine affection every now and then. It was all acceptable if it was part of a challenge, of a harmless game. But his words seemed to have done little to convince Duo of his true intentions.

"Nah, that ain't it," Duo shook his head friskily; "I'm sure I can come up with sumthin'."

"So can I," Heero interjected frowningly.

"Then why should I tag along?" Duo jeered him further.

"Because you're my friend, Duo," Heero simply gave in and just said it. "Unlike the others, we don't have a home to go back to," he muttered huffily, clearly vexed by being forced to confess his reason out loud. "You're all I've got," he added quietly, sheepish, his eyes downcast.

Duo's first natural reaction would have been to smile softy at his friend's reluctant confession. Instead, his expression turned blank. It was as if all the lights were suddenly switched off in his head. Something in him snapped at hearing Heero's request for companionship. Everything went dark. Madness took over; an uncontrollable tidal wave of darkness swept swiftly to flood every rational corner of his mind. Only savage instincts remained; the deep need to dominate and conquer surfaced from the deeps, flooding once perfectly sound regions of his psyche.

He turned to Heero, scowling darkly. "Sobaka!" he commanded coldly and Heero's head snapped up, his eyes wide.

"Kotoraya layet, no ne kusayet!"

Heero gaped at him, frozen in shock. His whole body tensed visibly. Then, suddenly, he sagged forward lifelessly. His eyes rolled back into his head. With a small helpless moan, he fainted and tumbled forward.

Duo caught him. Dark malice gleamed in his cobalt blue eyes as he rose swiftly to his feet, sweeping Heero's unconscious body into his arms.

"You brought this on yourself," he accused and carried Heero's limp body away. The teenage boy lay helplessly in Duo's arms, his head and limbs dangling down loosely, swinging from side to side as the elevator doors closed behind them.

*             *             *

Heero awoke to a strange sight. He was someplace dark with no definitive features. Pale blue light illuminated something above him, the only visible object in eyesight. It was a small silvery item, glimmering faintly under the Earthlight. He blinked to focus his vision, fighting off the webs of fatigue and numbness in an effort to keep his eyes open. He focused on the floating objects.

 _Ration packs¸_ he realized dully. The objects hovering above him were small bags of liquid rations. He was lying on his back in a dark room, looking up at floating rations.

His body felt heavy and numb as though frozen; immovable. He struggled to move, groaning as he fought to push off the floor. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't rise more than an inch; his body was completely uncooperative. He slumped down in exhaustion. The cold metal floor nipped his back and he deduced that someone must have removed the top part of his flight-suit. The thin cotton fabric of his green tank top was not enough to isolate his body from the cold metallic flooring. He could still feel the snug suit engulfing his hips and legs, which meant that only the top part had been unzipped and pulled down to his waist.

Where was he? Why couldn't he move?

"You're in _Eddy's Room_ – the happiest place on MO2," a sarcastic, callous voice replied from the shadows. "And you move if I say you move." The sinister voice sniggered. It sounded so alien to his ears, that it took Heero a moment to realize that the voice was in fact familiar. Was that Duo speaking?

"Who else," the malicious voice snickered from the darkness again. Heero was confused. Was Duo reading his mind or was he speaking out loud without even noticing?

"You're talking, yeah," his friend confirmed coldly; even without seeing him, Heero knew that the words were accompanied by a careless shrug typical of Duo. "You can't help it, see," Duo snarled; "That's one of the perks. There's nothing you can hide from me right now."

Perks? What perks?

"A kill-switch, Heero," Duo replied matter-of-factly, as though it should have been obvious. "It's a hypnotic suggestion J planted in your brain, just in case you went _berserk_ on him one day. One of the perks is that you have to speak your mind no matter what. Yanno, so it'll be easier to tell if you're planning sumthin' fishy. You also can't move a muscle, as you already found out for yourself. Two for one on the failsafe-thing, get it?"

This time, he made a conscious decision to speak. "H-how could you—"

"Know about this shit?" Duo completed the question for him. Even though he couldn't see him, Heero could actually _feel_ the dark smirk of Duo's face.

"They planted a suggestion in ma brain too, see," he heard him say. There was movement in the corner of his eyes and he shifted his glance aside just in time to see Duo step out of the shadows. The braided Gundam pilot stood towering above him, glaring down at him with cold, condemning cobalt eyes. Heero has never seen such utter malevolence.

Duo's face twisted with a sick smile. "I'll take that as a compliment," he said and Heero realized that he had vocalized his thoughts again.

"Yeah, 'n you're doin' it now too," Duo chuckled cheekily. "Jesus, I never thought I'd hear you speak so damn much. You should hear yourself, Heero. You sound like a _mess_. Words all jumbled... Is this what it's like to hear you think? Even I sound more coherent in ma own head."

"Shut up, Duo," Heero grunted intentionally. "This isn't funny so cut it out. Let me go."

"I ain't lettin' you go 'til I teach you a lesson. That's what _my_ kill-switch is for, after all. I'm kinda like J's failsafe, get it?"

Kill-switch? Failsafe? What did it all mean?

"It means I'm set to go off if you ever break the rules," Duo elaborated calmly.

Rules? "What... rules?" he croaked hoarsely. His lungs were on fire again. He was speaking too much; it hurt and he started wheezing shallowly.

"Your rules of conduct, Heero," Duo hissed grumpily as though it should have been obvious; "or have you forgotten them already? You'd think they'd stick after what those bastards musta done to ya. You disobeyed orders, Heero. You shouldn't have gone against protocol."

Orders? What orders? The war was over and J was dead – there were _no more orders!_

Duo snorted in disgust. "Don't be naïve. Dr. J wasn't the one running the show and you know it. It's over for now, nothing more. You made a boo-boo and now you haffta be punished so you'll do better next time. It doesn't matter if _this_ war is over. There'll be another one soon and it's your job to fight. Isn't that what they raised you for? Jesus, Heero, get a grip. No wonder they had to tinker with my brain to keep an eye on you... you're a real loose cannon, aren't you? What did that lady call you? A rampant _dog_? And people say _I'm_ unpredictable. At least I know enough to do what I'm told. She was right to set this up... you're a lousy soldier, Heero. All talk, no game. All you do is bark."

Heero stared at him through wide, stunned blue eyes. How could Duo possibly know about _her_?

Duo laughed. "Don't you remember?" he asked haughtily; "You took me to her after C-102. You dumped me in that L1 hospital and left for the moon. She did a number on me too and gave me your kill-switch code so you won't give me any trouble if I ever haffta do ma thing. So if you think about it, it's _your_ fault this is happening."

Duo was talking about to the time he had rescued him from OZ captivity instead of killing him as ordered. Duo was badly injured so he left him with Dr. J's colleague on L1. He was the one who brought Duo to _her_... By doing that, he had openly acknowledged Duo as his friend – and he did the same but a few moments ago, at the observation room... is that what set Duo off?

" _Now_ you're getting it," Duo congratulated, laughing smugly.

"You called me a... a dog... that... that doesn't bite..." Heero recalled dazedly. "That's... the code?" he mumbled, speaking without being aware of the words coming out of his mouth. It was impossible to tell what he was actually saying and what remained safely in his mind.

"Nothing is safe, _sobaka_ ," Duo corrected him and Heero felt his heart jump at the sound of that horrible word. It was fitting that J would use that hateful word to subdue him.

"You musta thought it was so funny calling me that– _sobaka?_ And there I was – a real _fool_ – thinking that you're actually being kinda _cute_ , calling me a fool... _'baka'_ in Japanese... You musta had a real laugh over that one didn't ya, Heero? You _rabid dog_!"

No, no, no! It wasn't like that! He might have called Duo _'sobaka'_ as a form of insult at first – he couldn't think of a more debasing word – but after a while it became more than just a way to express his dismay from Duo's attempts to befriend him and interfere with his mission. As their bond tightened and true friendship was formed, Heero came to reclaim the term _'sobaka'_ as his own, giving it new meaning: from a word that was at one time a pejorative, it became a positive nickname. Thanks to Duo, he had freed himself from its suffocating oppression, re-appropriating a word that had thus far caused him nothing but pain. _"Sobaka"_ became a playful term of endearment, a sign of friendship and the overcoming his past as someone unworthy of the term "human".

"In other words, you gave me a _pet name_ ," Duo muttered angrily. "A _pet_ name!" he roared, stomping his foot violently next to Heero's head. "Like a _fucking dog_!"

Heero grimaced. Duo got it all wrong...

"Did I ever tell you just how much I _hate_ dogs?" Duo demanded harshly as he circled around Heero, pacing the room like a dangerous predator. "Such disgraceful creatures," he muttered resentfully; "All they ever do is obey, just so they could get some love outta you." He stopped abruptly and turned to Heero, looking down at the incapacitated teenage-soldier lying vulnerably on the floor.

"I was ready ta love whoever was willing to take me off the streets, but no one gave a shit, yanno? Those who did – they died. I guess I shoulda been born a dog, just like you. Then somebody woulda taken me in, right?"

Heero closed his eyes, trying to ignore him. Every word Duo said cut him to the bone. Was he implying that Odin took him in like a stray dog? He was never a dog before Odin. He had his mother and his step father; he was their son, even if they neglected to make him feel like one. It didn't matter anyway, because they died. BOOM! Just like that. He was just a little boy and Odin took him in and turned him into a dog of war, a mercenary just like Odin. He didn't want to be a dog again! He didn't like it when Duo called him a dog...

...it hurt.

"I know it hurts, that's why I'm sayin' it!" Duo sniggered and Heero bit his lower lip, refusing to let his mouth form another word without his consent.

"Don't bother," Duo let out, sighing nonchalantly; "you'll say it anyway. This kill-switch thing is makin' you so _talky_. And people say _I_ ramble."

He crouched down next to Heero, leering disdainfully at the other boy. "But it's cool, cuz yanno, I was always kinda proud of the fact that I'm the only one you're willing to have a decent conversation with. It's so cool that you chose me as your friend, cuz you're sumthin' else, yanno? You care in a way that other people don't, can't. You're like... completely devoted, yanno? Heh, like a _dog_ ," he giggled, pleased with his own analogy.

Heero stared at Duo mutely. The boy towering over him was _not_ Duo Maxwell; he was something much darker, fiercer... a menace of a Hellish sort. He wasn't looking at his friend. He was gazing into the eyes of a... _devil_.

Duo chuckled. "Oh, I like that. Nice metaphor, soldier-boy. Who knew you'd be so damn _poetic_ ," he offered a sarcastic praise. "So – who's Odin?"

Odin? Did he speak about Odin out loud too? There was no way he was going to tell Duo about him! There was no way he was going to expose something so personal, so painful. He will never speak of a childhood spent in fear, hurt and humiliation under the abuse of a cruel caretaker. He has put it behind him: the beating, the degradation, the cigarette burns... He will never give anyone the satisfaction of making him feel that small and helpless ever again. He will not tell Duo about Odin – not ever!

"Fine, I get it... The man was a monster. Big surprise there." Duo sighed and rose back up to his feet. "So what else did he do – forced you ta give him head if you ever wanted to see food on your plate? Shit, those pedophile freaks give me the _creeps_. You'd puke if I ever told ya 'bout the things I've seen on the streets. Just goes to show you that there ain't no _God_ , yanno?" He smirked darkly; "C'mon, Heero – truth or dare... tell me what kinda nasty things he did to you..."

"N-nothing..." Heero gritted through clenched teeth, answering despite himself. There was nothing sexual about Odin's abuse. Despite the cruelty he had been subjected to by either Odin or Dr. J, at least neither one ever dared to touch him _that_ way.

"Really?" Duo marveled; "Now _there's_ some helpful FYI!" he laughed and dropped to his knees next to Heero, grinning nastily.

"I gotta say, that's a real shocker, cuz... yanno – you're fucking _gorgeous._ I mean, I ain't the one to call another guy _pretty_ or nuthin', but dammit man – have you looked in a mirror lately? It's no wonder that Relena chick is drooling all ova you. You got this whole _'totally unaware that I'm sexy'_ thing goin' on. Girls dig that." He chuckled. "I for one come off too strong. I mean, I'm sexy 'n I know it. I'm a flirt, I admit it. That could be a turn off, I guess. Remember how all those clueless sluts useta chase you around at every damn boarding school we hid in? And you complained that _I_ stand out too much."

Heero almost rolled his eyes. Now who was rambling? Even psychotic, the braided idiot couldn't keep his damn mouth shut!

Duo burst into a bubbly laugh. "Oh shit! You're right!"

Heero tried to make use of the diversion and move away. He mustered every bit of strength he had in him and forced his frozen muscles to obey. His whole body tensed; his back arched stiffly off the floor. He huffed harshly, wheezing as the strain crushed him from the inside. The pain intensified the harder he fought for freedom of movement; it became unbearable. His lungs and throat were on fire again. It hurt. It hurt so mu—

With a gasp, Heero stopped himself once he realized that he was expressing himself vocally again, telling Duo all about his agony, unable to suppress a single thought or sensation. Everything he felt was overwhelmingly intense; every emotion breached easily past his currently ineffective mental defenses, leaving him vulnerable and exposed. That scared him. Looking at Duo, he realized that he had every reason to be scared.

The braided pilot sat crouching next to him, listening intently to his every word. He seemed to be drinking his pain and fear eagerly. And the words just kept pouring uncontrollably from his mouth; he was unable to stop them, even now. Stop! Stop! If he would just stop thinking then he would stop speaking:

"If I stop thinking then I'll stop talking... If I stop thinking then I'll stop talking..." he repeated over and over, until Duo got bored listening to his mantra. He sighed petulantly and prepared to turn away from Heero. In a flash, he changed his mind, whirled back around and grabbed both of Heero's wrists, tugging his arms forcefully as he pinned them to the floor above Heero's head. He ended the quick assault by bending over the helpless boy lying pinned beneath him.

Heero bucked against him in rebellion, but he could barely lift himself more than an inch off the floor.

"You can't move, Heero, remember?" Duo taunted slyly, tugging forcefully at his pinned wrists. _"_ You _will not_ move. You can't fight me, Heero. You _will NEVER_ be able to fight me – so don't even try. You _will_ comply. You can bark, but you can't bite, _sobaka_. You _will_ obey me. _Don't. Fight._ " He emphasized the last two words by jerking Heero's limp arms violently above his head.

He could not fight; the order slowly sank in. Fighting Duo was not allowed. Heero's body sagged lifelessly at Duo's command. He felt faint, phasing out of reality. Shadows swallowed him whole, drowning him, forcing his body to sink into the cold floor. His mind was also numbed by the chilling darkness. For the first time in years, fear pricked his heart as it finally occurred to him that Duo was in complete control. He lay helpless at the foot of a madman.

"That's right," Duo affirmed snootily. "But you can still talk, Heero, so don't stop. I wanna hear you scream, so you may talk – I said _TALK!_ "

" _ABOUT WHAT!_ " Heero cried out in frustration; he simply couldn't help himself. Duo gave him an order and he was forced to execute it. Speak, he said, so he spoke.

Duo grinned madly. "Remember that stupid old nursery rhyme I useta annoy you with while you worked? Recite it."

He didn't want to. He didn't want to! It was humiliating. No! But there he was, reciting the rhymes as ordered:

"Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. All the king's horses and all the king's men... couldn't put Humpty together again..."

The braided pilot laughed madly, pleased beyond reason. Heero felt himself blush, mortified by the humiliation.

"Again!" he cheered and Heero obeyed:

"Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. All the king's horses and all the king's men... couldn't put Humpty together again..."

Duo was laughing hard. "Finally – some cooperation! Do it again!"

He didn't want to!

"Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall..." he recited in a trembling voice, almost crying the words out for he was so humiliated; "Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. All the king's horses and all the king's men... couldn't put Humpty together again..."

Duo was laughing madly. "Oh that's precious! You just wait and see how much more I'm gonna wring outta you..." A dark snarl twisted Duo's features. "You _will_ break, Heero," he commanded coolly. "You don't have a choice. You're a helpless pup. J made sure of it. You _will_ pay for going against your master's teachings."

"I don't have a... a master..." Heero huffed, straining to speak coherently. Dr. J was dead. Odin was long dead. He didn't have to be anyone's puppy— _puppet_ — anymore. All he wanted was to be allowed to live in peace... He wanted Duo to stop... Why was he doing this?

"I'm doing this because you pissed _her_ off, Heero."

He shuddered, feeling utterly hopeless at the mentioning of the one whose name should not be spoken. He grimaced, looking away.

"J mighta let you off the hook easy, but you know _her_... he let her do whatever he couldn't... the spineless old fart. He gave her your kill-switch and now here we are..." Duo chuckled, smiling cockily; "You got too close, so you haffta be punished... totally your fault. Sorry, dude. You shoulda taken your chances with J, huh?"

Heero watched, paralyzed, as Duo pulled out a folded combat army knife from his flight-suit's pocket. Heero has seen that jackknife before; it was a treasured trinket the braided pilot carried around wherever he went.

Duo flipped the switchblade open and it lurched out with a resonate _'click'_. Heero watched dazedly as Duo pressed the blade against his chest. He remained stubbornly silent, thinking about nothing but white noise on the television screen, refusing to let out a single sound even while he felt the jackknife slice his tank top across the chest, cutting into his skin. Blood oozed from the thin diagonal slash, staining the green fabric in crimson red. He clenched his teeth, biting back a pained groan. Closing his eyes, he fought to focus on the black and white image of white noise flickering and hissing loudly in an imaginary screen.

Duo scoffed dismissingly. " _She_ taught you that trick... it ain't gonna work this time, Heero."

White noise... white noise... white noise— _urgh!_

Duo dipped the knife into his flesh, drawing blood.

"Close is bad, Heero," he said while playing with the knife absentmindedly, drawing bloody circles across Heero's torso. "Very _very_ bad. You get hurt if you get close to people, and I'm gonna hurt you like no one ever has..."

Heero struggled to focus on the hissing white noise, but his concentration was being shattered by the stinging blade; bit by bit it crumbled, until the white noise faded away, replaced by hot, burning white pain flickering behind his closed eyelids.

He moaned, hurting. The sound coming out of his mouth was mortifyingly pathetic.

"I'm gonna show you how close I can _really_ get..." Duo continued speaking a chillingly dark tone; "I'll show you what you get from reaching out for someone like me!" And with those words Duo leaned forward and fastened his mouth to Heero's in a violent kiss.

Prussian blue eyes snapped wide open. Trapped in Duo's kiss, Heero writhed helplessly against his molester, but there wasn't much he could do; his movement was limited, as was his resistance. He opened his mouth to call out in protest and immediately felt Duo's strong tongue plunge in uninvited. It explored his mouth forcefully. The taste was terrible, soured by the stench of hunger and poor dental hygiene. Bile climbed up to his throat and he retched breathlessly, trying to move his head the other way. Both of Duo's hands shot up and grabbed his head, immobilizing it forcefully.

The violent kiss continued as though lasting forever. Heero's inner mouth was still tender where flesh had blistered badly. His gums and tongue itched and stung as Duo's tongue brushed against them fiercely. His sore airways seethed. His breath caught in his throat. His heart raced sporadically. He was suffocating, smoldered by Duo's kiss. His first kiss and it was done against his will, reducing him from a soldier to a helpless plaything.

No!

He struggled to push Duo off, but his body wouldn't budge another inch. All he could do was moan helplessly into Duo's mouth, signaling his distress before he ran out of air.

The braided adolescent broke the atrocious kiss and moved back, still leaning over Heero. He studied his friend's bruised face, reveling in the obvious shock and outrage evident in Heero's usually stoic features. He even noted a hint of fear flash briefly in Heero's eyes before his defiance remerged, hardening his face with insolence and resolve.

Duo slapped him, hard, and Heero's head shot sideways by the blow.

"Wipe that stupid defiance off your face," Duo grumbled angrily; "You're not fooling anyone."

Heero's eyes remained wide open in shock, gazing at the wall to his side. Wheezing heavily through bruised, gaping lips, he watched as a couple of space rations floated by lazily, drifting across his line of vision.

Duo moved. Before he knew it, he felt the man reach for his legs and yank his boots off swiftly. Duo tossed them aside and Heero heard them crash against the metal floor. His feet were cold. He could not turn his head back again to see what was happening, and he suspected that he was better off not knowing.

Duo jumped back to his feet and grabbed the folded edges of Heero's unzipped flight-suit hanging around his waist.

Heero blanched. His breath shortened. He felt Duo tug at his flight-suit, pulling it down his waist quickly, exposing the simple pair of black spandex shorts he wore underneath. He realized with horror why Duo was undressing him: he had provided Duo with an affliction he has never been subjected to; a kind of pain he never experienced before, perhaps the only form of hurt he was never forced to endure in his sixteen tortuous years of life...

"Don't—" Panting broke his voice; he was panicking, which was also new. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down forcefully in his throat. Was Duo going to— Heero's eyes clenched shut; horrified.

"No—!" he choked out and struggled to move away, wriggling helplessly like a worm pinned to a science-class operating tray. His efforts resulted in taut and aching muscles, but no real movement. He remained sprawled helplessly on the floor, his head lolling to the side. He could not fight; he could not move. All he was allowed to do was break... He was about to break!

"No!" he huffed desperately, shaking. Speaking was the only option he had left; an option he was never keen on choosing. He wasn't any good with words; he usually allowed his actions to speak for him.

"So let's just hope you'd be better in bed then," Duo taunted, snorting. "I'll be your first – right? Man, first time is special, yanno? I've been fucking since I was... I dunno, twelve? Maybe, could be younger. I was always so fucking high..." he mumbled absentmindedly, enchanted as he caressed Heero intimately. "I caught some nasty things on the streets, I can tell ya that. Sure took all the fun outta all of it..."

Nasty things? What kind of nasty things?! Shit, he didn't mean...

Duo chuckled. "Don't worry, man. I'm clean. The good Professor made sure to cleanse me of _fucking_ _everything_. What a buzzkill, huh? This war woulda been one Hell of a ride if he woulda let me to keep ma _crackers_ , know what I'm saying?" He let out a cynical laugh.

"No... you probably don't," he muttered. His expression turned cold and grim as he resumed roaming his hands over his captive's limp body. "You don't know anything, do ya dog?"

Heero cringed at the touch of Duo's probing hands; they were cold, coarse and forceful. All he could do was _lie there_ , unable to move, unable to resist. His only option was to appeal to Duo, to the _real_ Duo... the person behind the madness... his only friend. He fought to find words he never thought he would speak; pleas he never thought he would ever resort to... not with Duo.

"Duo... please... fight this..." he whispered in a trembling voice, on the verge of shameful tears. He closed his eyes, humiliated by the fear he heard in his own quivering voice. He couldn't hold back on anything; it was all out in the open for Duo to see and enjoy, relishing in his compulsory vulnerability. It was cruel.

"I dun wanna fight this," Duo dismissed his plea with a shrug of his shoulders. His mystified cobalt eyes followed the movements of his molesting hands. He explored the helpless pilot's slack body with sick fascination. He grabbed Heero's head powerfully and forced him to look back up again. He looked into the boy's eyes, smirking darkly. Heero looked back at Duo, unable to look anywhere else. He saw the braided pilot lift his jackknife again and his body tensed, preparing for pain.

Duo pointed his knife at Heero's groin and savored the hysteria he found bubbling just beneath the surface of Heero's alarmed blue eyes. He kept their gazes locked as he shoved the tip of his blade under the waistline of the boy's spandex shorts.

"Don't!" Heero cried out just as Duo jerked his shorts down swiftly, along with his underwear. He remained dressed only in a torn, bloody, tank top. Mortified, he closed his eyes, refusing to see the look on Duo's face as his molester observed him in his flaccid nakedness.

"It's okay, you got nuthin' to be ashamed of," Duo muttered tauntingly and it occurred to Heero that he had expressed his shame out loud. Shit.

"Do you even like boys?" he heard himself ask although he didn't want to. He didn't care what Duo liked; he was just looking for an opening, some sort of reasoning that would make him _stop_.

"Dunno, don't think so," Duo mumbled, shrugging carelessly. "I never fucked one before, if that's what you mean. But it really isn't the point now is it?"

"Don't do this..." Heero heard himself plead. He sounded utterly miserable; pathetic, even to his own ears.

"Got any better ideas then?" Duo asked haughtily; "I haffta hurt you in some _horrid_ way, or this thing won't be over. That's the whole point behind this shit. I haffta teach you a lesson, _dog_ , might as well enjoy it."

"Then hurt me... hurt me however you see fit, but not like this... please Duo... not like this..." Why was he begging? What was he so afraid of? Would rape hurt more than other forms of torture he had endured? Or was it because it would be Duo raping him that it would hurt so much?

"If I had to guess I'd haffta say it's the latter," Duo replied smoothly, smirking. "I mean, if I do this—" he placed the tip of his jackknife on the delicate skin on the right crease of Heero's groin; "—it would hurt, but—" he dipped the blade into the boy's soft flesh, watching in fascination as he drew blood; "—not as much as—" his eyes widened and his face twisted manically, announcing his psychotic intentions.

"DUO – DON'T!" Heero's desperate shriek split the air just as the knife tore into his flesh, running swiftly across the right crease of his groin and leaving a thick trail of blood in its wake. Wheezing painfully, Heero writhed on the floor in a useless attempt to repel him, but it was over before he knew it. A long, clean gash marred his groin, oozing blood. It ached and stung terribly, but at least Duo hadn't done what he thought he would...

"Oh, _come on_!" Duo exclaimed friskily; "what kinda rapist would I be if I chopped your dick off just before I rape ya? That would kinda defeat the whole purpose of it now wouldn't it?" He scoffed. "But I think I made my point."

The tension in his muscles dissipated and Heero fell back against the floor, breathless. He couldn't fight this. Duo was going to rape him and there was not a damn thing he could do about it!

"That's right," Duo confirmed snootily and stood up. Heero watched him with a pair of dull, resigned, blue eyes as he undressed, shedding his own flight-suit to the floor. He closed his eyes again. He didn't wish to see any more. Sight was the only thing he could control now.

"Suit yourself," he heard Duo muttered dismissively and he felt him approach. His body tensed as he braced himself for the pain that was to come. He knew that he should relax his muscles – torture was usually more bearable that way – but he couldn't. He was too stressed, distraught, frightened; he didn't know what to expect.

"Duo... don't do this..." he listened to his own pitiful implore. He was still speaking endlessly, sharing his every thought with Duo. "Don't do this... stop it... don't do this... please... stop... don't... don't... don't rape me... please..." His throat hurt from talking so damn much, but he couldn't stop. He was scared and he was admitting it freely. He felt his cheeks burn hot red with shame. His lung burnt, collapsing under the strain of useless pleas.

"Don't make me beg... not you... not like this... please..." he whispered brokenly, shaking his head in denial of his own pathetic mumblings. He wished he could stop talking... he wished everything would just stop and this nightmare would end. Why couldn't he stop talking!

"I don't want to talk anymore... not about this... not about anything... Don't listen... please... don't... don't, Duo... please... My lungs will explode... I can't... I can't stop... please... I don't want to talk anymore... You can't know this... please... Don't listen... don't listen... Make it stop... Make me stop talking... please... I can't breathe!!!

"Please... No... Don't laugh... stop enjoying this... it's wrong... please... He used to laugh too... I cried and he laughed... I begged and he laughed... I bled and he laughed... Don't be like him... it scares me... No... No! I can't tell you that! Please! I don't want to tell you... you can't know... no one can ever know... Duo... please... Don't be like him... I loved Odin so much... I loved him and he hurt me... nothing was ever good enough... don't be like that... please don't hurt me... don't make me beg like he did... please... I don't want to tell you any of this... Please... Duo... Don't listen anymore... just stop... Make me stop... please! Please... make me stop talking... don't make me say these things... please, Duo... just... stop... JUST MAKE ME STOP!!!"

"Yeah, it'll probably be better if you kept your mouth shut from now on," Duo agreed as he positioned himself behind him. "This shit ain't easy for me either 'n you're breakin' ma concentration. I can't get it up when you keep sniveling like that." He lifted the boy's legs up, resting an ankle on each of his shoulders.

"Then don't... don't... don't get it up... don't do this... don't... Duo... Duo! Don't do this!" He was panicking, crying the words out hysterically. He couldn't stop. He was so scared... he didn't want this... he didn't want to be raped!

"I didn't mean to piss her off... I just wanted to get you some help... You were dying... I didn't want you to die... Duo, please... please... tell her I'm sorry... please... I won't do it again... please... I'm sorry! Tell her I'm sorry! Duo! Duo! I'm sorry – okay? Stop it... please! I said I'm sorry!"

"Not good enough," Duo grunted and pushed his hips forward. Heero felt the tip of something warm and hard pressing against his anus and gasped loudly. Suddenly there were no more words coming out of his mouth. He fell silent, his mind going blank. This was it. Duo was really going to rape him.

A new surge of panic swept through him. He squirmed helplessly, panting hysterically.

"NO! DUO – DON'T!" he cried out in despair, clenching his eyes shut tightly; "DON'T! PLEASE!"

"Shut up, Heero!" Duo shouted and then rocked his hips forward violently.

"NO—! DON'T!!!" Heero shrieked in agony. The penetration was swift, hard and excruciatingly painful. His own blood, still gushing out of the wound in his groin, provided some lubrication, but it was hardly enough to ease the scorching torture. Heero howled like a wounded animal; a loud, high-pitched wail that tore painfully from his throat. He truly thought that he'd be able to bear the torture silently, but he felt as though he was being torn apart by the brutal violation of his body. His anus burnt and throbbed, tearing. Each pulsating surge of agony wringed a pitiful, throaty whimper from his chapped lips.

"I SAID _SHUDDUP_!" Duo screamed furiously, thrusting with a vengeance until he was sheathed completely inside of him. Heero wanted to shout at him to stop, but no voice broke out of his mouth; his plea died in his throat. He has been muted by Duo's order. All he could do was lie there and bear the pain silently as Duo defiled his body. The only sound he was now capable of making were small, pitiful moans.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" Duo taunted scornfully. His pace was slower now, more at ease. He moved back and forth leisurely, clearly beginning to enjoy himself. Heartbroken by the desecration of his one and only sanctuary – his body and mind – Heero clenched his eyes shut even tighter, refusing to picture the compulsory act of sodomy performed on him.

"Do you know why this hurts so much?" he heard Duo continue his derisive speech; he had no choice but to listen. It was either concentrate on Duo's words, or on the burning pain devouring his lower body.

"It hurts because you _care_ , Heero. It hurts because you consider me your friend. It hurts because _I'm_ the one hurting you. That's what you get if you let people get close... she wanted you to know that."

A choked whimper escaped his lips; another pathetic broken weep he was unable to hold back. He was completely powerless; vulnerable in a way he was never forced to feel before. Even the defiance of biting back his cries was denied of him, and maybe that hurt the most. He had no more pride to hide behind; nothing to shield him from Duo's assault. The very thought of it wringed another wretched squeal from his aching throat.

"You stupid _mutt_ ," Duo grunted; "You even _wail_ like _dog_. You shoulda known better. Caring for people will only get you hurt. I bet you even cared for that Odin piece-of-shit now didn't ya? Did you call him _daddy_ when he wasn't listening? You did, didn't ya?" Duo laughed. "You _needy mutt._ You should care for one thing and one thing only – your master's orders. You live to obey, Heero; to fight, nothing more. Without war, you're nothing. I might as well kill you when I'm done. I can leave you to lie here and bleed to death... you'll die slowly, slayed like an old dog."

He didn't want to listen anymore, but he could not close his ears as he did his eyes. He fought to turn his head away, straining even with this simple movement. Somehow, he managed a slight pan to the right. It wasn't much, but it was something. Duo laughed at his useless resistance. Then, suddenly, he stopped moving.

Heero gasped desperately for air, as though he had just been allowed to raise his head out of freezing water. His bottom burnt agonizingly, but at least Duo was no longer moving. He shuddered, breathless; his body was going into shock.

Was it over?

Panting harshly, Heero's eyelids fluttered open, desperately searching of Duo's face. His vision hazed in and out of focus. The pain clouded his sight, but he could still see the dark smirk on Duo's face. He fought to focus on Duo's eyes, hoping that perhaps it would make a difference somehow and Duo would realize that he was hurting a friend.

He could still feel Duo's hard manhood inside of him; a desecration like no other.

Duo smirked smugly. "I'm giving you a second chance to prove yourself a soldier, Heero. I trust that you'll learn your lesson. You _will_ repent your crimes. You _will_ stop caring about me, do you hear? You _will_ stop caring about _everything_. Just do as you're ordered, you _miserable pup._ Don't think that this peace will last long. Stick to what J taught you. Your job is to prepare for the next fight – _got it?_ "

Heero closed his eyes sadly. He felt warm tears well behind his closed eyelids; the first tears to flood his eyes in years. The last he recalled crying, he was a child, which was understandable. Now he was a soldier; strong and capable, guarded and composed. He should never, ever, have to cry again. However, his tears thought otherwise. They spilled sorrowfully down the sides of his face. The physical and emotional strain overwhelmed him. He wept like a child.

The torture resumed as Duo thrust back into him swiftly. Heero screamed hoarsely, barely having a voice left to cry with. He panted sharply, wheezing hoarsely through his gaping mouth. His injured lungs and throat throbbed terribly, stinging sorely with each desperate gasp for air. He wished he could simply stop breathing, but his stubborn body fought for air, insisting on ensuring his survival despite his insufferable anguish.

Shattered and drained, Heero fell silent and simply embraced the horror. Time progressed in a slow, agonizing pace. Duo was taking forever to finish. He let out a throaty groan, basking in the unmerited pleasure of torturous, nonconsensual sex. This degradation was the worst of all. It finally occurred to him that what it truly meant to be raped _._ It wasn't just the physical agony; it wasn't just his body being violated – it was his mind, his heart, his soul. Everything was damaged; broken, defiled in a way that could never be restored.

He tried to withdraw someplace deep and far away in his own mind, but the excruciatingly burning pain in his rectum refused to let him escape reality. The agony forced him to feel every miserable second of it as Duo thrust in and out of him in a slow, tortuous pace. It hurt so much and he was so terribly exhausted. He couldn't breathe. His chest felt like stone. His airways throbbed as though collapsing. His lungs barely took in air. He was going to die here, helpless and violated; suffocated by rape, hopelessness and utter fatigue.

Lying motionless on the cold floor, his body ravaged against his will, he tried to ignore everything and simply meld with the darkness of the room. He directed his gaze upwards, refusing to glance down at what was being done to him. He didn't want to see Duo as he was now; it wasn't Duo at all, so he refused to die thinking of Duo as his rapist. It _will not_ be his last thought.

He forced his gaze to focus on the murkiness above, listening to his own shallow wheezing echo in the room. Silvery ration packs floated lazily in the air, gleaming faintly under the pale Earth light. He followed them closely as they drifted back and forth. He focused on one particular pack, giving it his utmost devoted attention in an effort to ignore the scorching pain in his lower body. It drifted leisurely to the left, as slow as a drop of dew on a flower petal, until it bumped into a metal wall and was propelled to the right.

He gasped as the world suddenly twirled around him in a blur; Duo had just flipped him over swiftly. He crashed flatly against the freezing floor, lying on his abdomen, hitting his face on the cold metal.  His flaccid body was being maneuvered like a docile doll while Duo changed positions as he pleased. He was gripped tightly by his hips as Duo pulled him up forcefully by his behind.

"I gotta tell ya – I'm spent!" He heard Duo huff breathlessly as the braided pilot positioned himself behind him; "but I bet you'll appreciate being fucked doggy style, right _sobaka_?" he sniggered and moved in for yet another violent penetration.

Heero shrieked as his very soul split violently in two, shattering to tiny little pieces falling noiselessly to the floor. The invasion was deeper and fiercer than before. He whimpered with every deep thrust, sobbing brokenly as the torture refused to end. Wishing for nothing more but to see the ration packs again, he cried like a child denied of a juvenile desire. His mind begged for the distraction to be returned to him, but all he could focus on was the pain.

He was being fucked like a dog. Shame and abhor flooded him, wringing out more bitter tears. Heero wept brokenly. He didn't want to be Duo's dog... He wanted to be Duo's friend, but... but how could he even look him in the eye after this? No, once the deed was done, he will be alone again. Just a dog of war, always sniffing the air for the next fight. Mission accomplished; his masters have won. Dr. J got what he wanted... he didn't want to be human anymore. Without Duo's friendship, he will be nothing but a dog.

Realizing this, Heero numbed, disconnecting.  He didn't care anymore. Duo could do as he pleased. It didn't matter anymore. They were over. He closed his eyes, the last of his tears lingering to his thick eyelashes, and simply rode the pain out until it was finally over.

At some point, perhaps an eternity later, the torture ended. Duo moved away and he remained lying flatly on the floor, battered, broken and bleeding. He lay prone, face down, dressed only in a tattered green tank top; his nude and bleeding behind presented to the world. His eyes snapped opened, mortified when he felt warm semen seep out of him slowly. They remained wide open, staring ahead in shock. He watched numbly as Duo dressed, zipping up his flight suit.

"I'm gonna take a long nap now, Heero," the braided teenager informed him as he moved away. There was a desk and a chair under a small window at the far side of the room. Duo took a seat on the chair and placed two legs on the table. He leaned back casually, folding his arms behind his head.

"When I wake up, I ain't gonna remember any of this," he informed him while he gazed out the window. He threw his legs off the table and spun the chair around to face Heero again. "Now—" he said, smirking nastily at Heero; "this is _my_ kill-switch: Remind me this ever happened – and I _will_ do this again. Dare call us friends again – and I _will_ hurt you like this again. If you ever dare to care for anyone or anything as much as you did today – I _will_ do this to you again. I will take away anything you will ever care for – do you understand? You're a _dog_ , Heero – a lonely _miserable_ **_dog_** – got it?"

More tears welled in his eyes. He closed them sorrowfully, crying silently. He nodded his head keenly. Yes, he got it. This was goodbye.

"Good," Duo grinned and spun his chair back around, assuming his previous position. He folded both arms behind his head. "Well then, the kill-switch is over. You may do whatever after I fall asleep. It's been surprisingly good fuckin' ya. Goodnight!"

The dark room fell silent. Only the sound of Heero's ragged breathing could be heard echoing in the dark. He remained lying motionless on the floor, watching Duo with wide, stunned and tearful blue eyes. The gash in his groin has stopped bleeding, but much blood has pooled around his mangled lower body. Everything hurt, but Heero couldn't feel the pain anymore; he was not allowed to feel anything anymore.

Lying half-naked on the floor, he stared up numbly at an unconscious Duo for what felt like a lifetime, feeling nothing but his throbbing and bleeding behind. He lay in the dark, struggling to draw breath into his lungs. He was certain each breath would be his last, but they just kept on coming. He gaped dazedly at Duo's sleeping form, inhaling slow, painful and shuddering breaths.

He might not last the night, Heero realized. He mourned the thought of how Duo will wake up in the morning to find his mangled and desecrated body lying on the floor as evidence to a crime he could not recall; a betrayal he should not be held accountable for, yet he will be if anyone found out. The thought was heartbreaking. Heero couldn't let that happen. This wasn't Duo's fault. It was J's fault – the old fart! Dr. J made him this helpless. J had turned him back into a victim... Duo's victim. They've both been played... used and abused by forces beyond their control. _She_ did this to Duo. _She_ did it because J told her to... because he was a bad dog, because he had disobeyed orders. This wasn't Duo's fault. It was _his_ fault for taking Duo to L1... to _her_. It was his fault for showing how much he cared for his only friend. He mustn't die letting Duo think he was at fault. He wasn't.

His body was numb. He begged his fingers to twitch, straining to move his arm. Gradually, pins and needles began to prickle his frozen limbs as the power of J's "failsafe mode" faded slowly. Somehow, with limited movement, he managed to drag his numb arm across the cold metal floor. He dipped his fingers into a pool blood surrounding his hips and smeared it across the floor with a trembling hand and wrote with his own blood: _'Not your fault'_.

Exhausted, Heero fainted, his bloody hand lying limply by the smeared words.

*             *             *

He woke up hours later, shocked that he was still alive, still drawing tortured breaths.

Duo was sound asleep by the desk.

He could move again. Rising shakily to his feet, he gathered his clothes off the floor with trembling hands. His body was finally awake, but his mind remained numb, shocked. Moving clumsily, he got dressed, ignoring the cries of his aching body. His underwear immediately stained with fresh blood.

He hurried to put his flight-suit back on, to hide the evidence of his ordeal. He winced painfully as he raised his legs into the skin-tight jumpsuit. His behind hurt so much that he nearly choked out another cry, but he bit it back, biting his lips down until they bled, refusing to let out another anguished whimper ever again. His arms trembled wildly with anxiety and fatigue. He fiddled awkwardly with the buttons and zippers, but could not coordinate his quivering fingers to fasten the suit up properly. Desperate to leave the room already, he left the top part hanging open, flapping down across his chest to reveal his torn and bloody tank top.

He stopped to stare numbly at the words he had written in blood; evidence of unspeakable infidelity. On a whim, he wiped them away with his foot, smearing the blood across the floor until they became unreadable.

He stood there for a moment, staring wretchedly at his rapist. The blood will confused Duo, but he won't know whose blood it was... No; that wasn't enough.

Falling to his knees, Heero wiped the blood clean with both arms, allowing his black flight-suit to soak the crimson puddle. He rubbed his arms frantically on the floor, scrubbing hard with his arms and legs until nearly all of it was absorbed by the suit; the rest just looked like black smudges on the floor. He stood up stiffly, drenched in his own blood. The suit seemed darker, but no one would be able to tell why. Only he will feel the filth clinging to his flesh; he will forever feel it crawling in his skin.

He walked to the door rigidly; the fabric has clotted around him because of the blood. Every step hurt deeply, making him flinch each time his foot touched the floor. He limped and winced, limped and winced, until he reached the door. He turned around slowly, sending a final look of farewell towards Duo's sleeping form.

He left the room with a useless promise to forgive and forget MO2.

*             *             *

**To be continued in Chapter 14: Revelations:**

oOo

"Hello Heero," the blond businessman greeted briskly; his tone smooth and cold. "Thank you for coming down here so late at night."

oOo

Heero's grip around the right crutch tightened, his fist clenching tensely around the staff. Inhaling deeply, he took a step towards the kitchen, ready to swing the crutch in self-defense.

"Duo?" he called warily and his quiet voice sounded awfully loud as it broke the heavy silence. "I know you're here."

oOo

In one swift motion, Duo pushed up and jumped in through the window, landing as gracefully as a cat.

oOo

"Someone's been a bad dog..." he smirked manically; blood smeared across his face and his eyes gleaming ominously; "One down – two more to go."

oOo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:** I'm sure most of you picked up on the clues and already guessed what happened on MO2 (isn't it fun being right? ^-^ I mean, err... poor Heero! Yeah.), which is why this chapter isn't the climax of the story. I would like think that I still have a few tricks up my sleeve and I hope you're willing to bear with me 'til the end.  
>  Elle


	16. Chapter 14: Revelations

**Chapter 14: Revelations**

The nightmare faded away slowly, melting back into the usual murky gray puddle of dread bubbling quietly under the surface of his conscious mind. Heero's solemn Prussian blue eyes fluttered open sluggishly. They gleamed faintly in a dark room, moist with tears. He stared ahead numbly through bleary eyes, too disoriented to really process anything. Everything inside of him shuddered and hurt. Unbearable shame flooded him, itching under his skin and burning in his veins.

Dr. J didn't live to see the result of his lingering curse, he mused dully, but _she_ got what she wanted. He had shunned Duo away and returned to being a dedicated soldier... until he couldn't be one anymore. It took some serious brain damage to get _her_ off his back. Even after a two-year-long rehabilitation he was never the same. He was a defective soldier – obsolete. They had no more use for him after the injury, which meant that MO2 had been for nothing. He had suffered for nothing, because shortly after MO2 he could no longer be the person they tried to force him to be. It was all for nothing... he had lost Duo for nothing.

It wasn't fair.

Heero blinked and a few tears spilled, streaming slowly down his mournful features. He reached a shaky hand to wipe them away. There was an elastic hospital-bracelet around his bony wrist; it scratched his cheek so he quickly drew his hand back, gaping at it dully. The illumination was dim, but from up-close, he could still make out the writing: _Hiro Nakasone, M, 27, Internal B, 08.29.207_

Inhaling deeply, he released a troubled sigh and closed his eyes again. He needed a moment, perhaps an eternity, to regain his composure. Everything inside him shuddered; he was consumed by a terrible cold. His throat was dry and coarse like sandpaper, as though he had just screamed out the anguish of a lifetime, but it was only thirst; a terrible, unquenchable thirst for something to soothe the unbearable aridness inside. He was parched; hollow and drained... a depleted husk raped of the right to fill its aching void with anything remotely humane. Those were the rules of conduct Duo had laid out on MO2, pounding them into him in the most brutal of ways.

It would be a while before he could recover from the jump and reassert that he was no longer that empty husk Duo left lying desecrated on the floor of _Eddy's Room_ on MO2. He struggled to focus on the more positive aspects of his life, moments of joy he's had the privilege of experiencing since. They were moments that filled him with an appreciation for life: like meeting his son for the first time, playing ball with him for the first time, making love for the first time, melting into a loving woman's embrace for the first time... Following what Dr. Naveen taught him years ago, he held onto as many of those moments as he possibly could, until the terrible, mind-numbing terror he felt inside subsided to the bearable level he had learned to live with over the years.

The room was quiet; it was late at night. Heero opened his eyes again slowly and looked around the room. His breath hitched in his throat when he spotted Duo sitting slouched in a plastic chair by his bed, leaning backwards against the wall, snoring loudly in a deep slumber. He studied Duo quietly through numb blue eyes, taking in every little detail: from his heavy, worn-out military boots, to his snug blue jeans, to the abstract gothic image tattooed along his left arm, to his flashy red T-shirt stretched over a taut chest and abdomen, the sleeves a tad too tight around Duo's muscular arms. The close-fitting red top, the same one Duo wore when he first showed up at his doorstep, sported a horrific caricature of a green dog being slaughtered by a jagged army knife. He gazed at the cartoon image numbly for a while. The mad green dog was laughing manically as he was stabbed by the knife, his blood spewing in every direction while his tongue hung out in a silly, grotesque manner. The image was disturbing so he looked away, feeling nauseated with dread.

His eyes shifted up slowly to observe Duo's sleeping face, tense and grimacing even in slumber; he seemed like one of the tortured saints Marissa admired blindly. His features were that of a bitter and pained young man; the exact opposite of what Heero always assumed Duo would become when given the chance to live his life in peace. Because of him, Duo never found peace. Their association had set Duo down a dark and twisted path. Even though he was the one who's been... _hurt_... Heero still felt guilty. He was the one responsible for their tragedy. It was _his_ fault Duo hurt him. It was _his_ fault Duo lost everything. His superiors made a monster out of Duo because of _him_ , turning a dear friend into a dangerous madman ready to deliver punishment upon his very soul if he ever so much as look at Duo the wrong way.

A tremor traveled down his spine. His stomach churned uneasily. Duo already tried to kill him once this week; he even molested him again. Bile rose to this throat and Heero fought back a cough – afraid he might retch and wake Duo up. He had to get out of there. He couldn't be in the same room with Duo right now. It was too soon. He felt as though he just woke up on the floor in a pool in his own blood, his behind still throbbing from Duo's brutal assault.

He had to get away from him. The anxious urge was strong and burning, much like that terrible night on MO2. He remembered leaving Eddy's Room on two wobbling legs. He stopped at the doorway and gazed at his rapist lengthily, struggling to make sense of his ambiguous feelings. There was so such turmoil... he was flooded with burning rage and at the same time, tamed by unwarranted compassion towards a person he ached to resent. Stubbornly, he force his broken body to take a more confidant stance, straightening his back, drawing his shoulder-blades closer and standing tall, trying to look proud despite the fact that he felt so terribly defeated.

He had been determined not to give in. He refused to let _her_ triumph over him and he will notlet J hurt him from beyond the grave. If his superiors thought that forcing his only friend to hurt him will divert him from forming connections with fellow human beings, then he will prove them wrong... somehow. His resolution to pull through and remain the person Duo taught him he could be will become Duo's legacy, not the rape. That was why he had left Eddy's Room with a hopeful promise to forgive and forget.

It had hurt to walk, but he did anyway, desperate to get as far as he possibly could from that abomination of a room. An excruciating pain shook inside of him with each agonized step, but somehow he managed to make it to the hangar deck. He ran into Relena in the hallway. She stopped to say hello and he panicked, fearing she might see the atrocity reflect in his eyes, the blood soaking his flight-suit or the traces of dry tears still staining his mortified features. He ran off quickly, grimacing at the pain his running stirred in his backside with each hurried footfall. Howard and his crew were still working on ZERO in the hangar but he didn't care. It was still in Neo-Bird-Mode. He jumped into the cockpit and maneuvered the damaged Gundam into orbit with minimum flight capacity. He was aware that might not make it past the atmosphere, but he didn't care. He just wanted to put MO2 behind him.

Now, twelve years later, he finally came to terms with the obvious fact that he will never be able to do that. He had broken his promise to forgive and forget. He was unable to forget, and he was too angry to forgive. The anger was overwhelming in its intensity. He didn't expect to suddenly feel such a burning resentment towards Duo after all this time. But now that the man was suddenly here and not just a far-away potential menace, the rage overcame the fear, surpassing it by far. It blazed in his veins, boiling hot in his blood, seeping through cracks as it bubbled fiercely. He did his best to contain it, knowing full well that Duo should forever remain ignorant of his own atrocious deed.

He wasn't angry with Duo for being unable to fight the suggestion planted in his head; he knew it was impossible because he couldn't fight the kill-switch either. No, he was angry about something else; he was angry about the way Duo chose to carry out the subliminal order. Duo was forced to hurt him if he ever acknowledged their friendship openly, but his orders never specified _how_. Rape was Duo's choice of weapon and as much as Heero struggled to forgive him for that terrible night, he was still furious with Duo's choice. It was a conscious decision, and therefore inexcusable.

_'I dun wanna fight this,'_ Duo had said; _'I haffta teach you a lesson, dog, might as well enjoy it...'_ And he had. Duo didn't just relish in his pain, he relished in the profane violation of his body as well. That was unforgivable so the anger remained with him over the years, bustling quietly under the surface, like an incubating scourge. That was why he had to get away from Duo – _now_. The bubbling slime was rising fast, getting too much for him to bear; he was being smoldered by his own self-disgust.

There was a wheelchair in the far end of the room. Heero sat up as quietly as he could and lifted the blanket off his injured leg. The bulky casts around his left limbs were thick and heavy; an uncomfortable hindrance. He moved carefully out of bed, holding back groans of pain as he struggled to move towards the chair silently. He used the wall for support as he made his way slowly around the room, jumping on his one good leg, supported by his one good arm. When he finally reached the wheelchair, he settled on it and released a thankful sigh, relieved to be sitting down again.

Duo let out a sleepy moan, mumbling something unintelligible as he shifted in his chair. Heero froze, his eyes darting quickly in Duo's direction. The young man was lying sprawled sloppily on the chair by the bed, still asleep. Heero remained motionless for a few moments, just to make sure Duo fell back into a deep slumber. When his loud snoring resumed, Heero finally moved his chair forward.

Months of being restricted to a wheelchair during his rehabilitation have taught him how to maneuver it easily. Apparently, it was like riding a bike and getting back on it felt regrettably natural. With only one functional arm, wheeling the chair around was difficult; his right arm trembled under the strain as he maneuvered himself out of the room.

The hospital hallways were dim and quiet. It was late at night and most of the patients were asleep. The only sound to fill the empty halls was a low hum of the central air-conditioning cooling the ward during a humid August night. Heero recalled listening to that hum for hours during the long sleepless nights he had spent at the Neurology Ward. There was something very soothing about the low whirring. It reminded him of a distant, forgotten home up in the Colonies, where the hum of the life support machines was a constant companion throughout the night. To this day he could not sleep in complete silence; he always left the ceiling fan on in his bedroom, even during winter, just so he could hear the quite whirring while he slept.

"What are you doing?" a stern female voice called from behind him and Heero turned around in his wheelchair. An elderly nurse was standing before him, her hands planted on her hips and a deep scowl on her face.

"It's already lights out, young man," she rebuked; "Back to your room."

He considered commenting nastily about her impudence, but his time at the ward taught him to respect the medical staff, for they were only doing their job – which wasn't easy at all. Most patients were difficult, demanding and ungrateful; there were times when he was no better. He had seen Marissa deal with so many _jerks_ – both patients and their families – and as much as she struggled to control her hot-temper, sometimes she'd lose her cool and snap back at them too. There were times when he had felt the urge to intervene and punch some _asshole_ on her behalf. So instead of giving the old nurse a hard time, he simply said: "I need to make a call."

"You can make it in the morning," the nurse insisted. She grabbed the wheelchair by its handles and started turning it back around. Heero quickly clutched his right hand over the wheel as sturdily as he could, preventing her from rolling him away.

"I have to make it _now_ ," his voice was low; quiet but dangerous. He glared up at the nurse towering over him, the ruthless gaze in his eyes daring her to argue with his request. He might have chosen to play nice, but he was in no mood for games. If it was a power-struggle she wanted, he would oblige her. It was yet another lesson he had learned at the ward. When it came to the junior hospital staff working the nightshifts, he had to stand his ground. Unlike the senior doctors and nurses at the ward, the low ranking personnel weren't as understanding towards the patients and often treated them like children, never even considering that their requests came from an adult who simply could not express himself properly. Luckily, he no longer had that problem:

"I was in an accident," he explained; "I have a son," he added carefully; "I have to call home and to let them know I'm here." He did his best not to tell a blunt lie, in case she was aware of his marital status, and still present his situation in a light that would make her understand. He was good at that; the time he had spent living undercover in various boarding schools was good practice. Duo was the one to teach him how to excel at presenting the truth as a lie; he said that it was better than having to kill some clueless civilian for snooping around too much. Duo of course claimed that he _never_ lied, but that was what made him such a damn good liar; he knew how to use the truth as a lie better than anyone.

"Fine," the elderly nurse sighed and let go of the wheelchair. "There's a payphone down the hall."

"Thank you," he said and rolled away. He made a collect call and he waited anxiously for Marissa to pick up.

"Jesus, Hiro, it's the middle of the night!" she snapped at him the moment the call connected. "Last time you called me collect in the middle of the night you were— _God!_ Please don't tell me you've been drinking!" She wouldn't even let him squeeze a word in and quickly added with alarm: "It's him – isn't it? You're drinking again because of _him_ , aren't you?! _Jesus!_ "

"I wasn't drinking," he sighing, speaking quietly into the receiver; "I'm in the hospital."

"What's wrong?" she asked anxiously; "Are you all right? Did D—" she stopped herself before saying the name he had strictly forbidden her to speak. "Did he..." she speculated carefully, her tone uneasy.

"No," he hurried to assure her. "I had an accident," he said and quickly added: "I'm fine," before she started fretting.

"An accident!?" she examined worriedly; "When? What happened? Why didn't you call sooner?"

"I got hit by a car," he elaborated; "They had to operate on my leg. I was out for a while."

Marissa heaved a sigh of obvious disapproval. "I told you it's getting too dangerous for you to walk alone out on the street. Hiro – you can't _see_. When are you gonna get that into that thick head of yours?"

He didn't answer and she let out another critical exhalation. She had a way of rebuking him without saying anything at all. Just a glare, a sigh or pronouncing his name in a reprimanding manner was enough to convey her dismay and make everyone fall back in line. Adriel and he often referred to her as a _Drill-Sergeant_ ; it was their private little joke.

"Did Alan look you over?" Marissa asked quietly.

"...yes," he mumbled, looking away awkwardly, even though she couldn't possibly see him.

" _And?_ " she demanded to know.

"I want to go home," the simple statement slipped past his lips without notice. Due to his recent jumps, he felt so very vulnerable. He was speaking to Marissa much like he did during their time together at the ward, when he could express himself earnestly, baring his soul to her so she could soothe his aching heart. He needed her; he wanted nothing more than to see her right that instant. He hoped she could understand that, because there was no way he could bring himself to say it out loud.

Marissa was silent on the other end of the line. The intense silence usually indicated that she was about to snap at him.

"Rissa..." he whispered her name softly, trying to pacify her before she lashed out at him with criticizing words.

"Don't you _Rissa_ me! Do you realize he's only been here four days and already you're a complete mess!?"

"This could have happened either way," he countered and she smacked her lips in annoyance.

"I need money for cab fare," he requested calmly despite her critique; "And some clothes..." he looked down at his bare feet, sighing; "...and shoes."

Marissa scoffed. "Well now _that_ takes me back," she muttered and Heero had to suppress his own sigh. She simply didn't know when to quit if she was angry, and she knew exactly which buttons to push. Yes, he used to call her often in the middle of the night, drunk out of his mind, aching for her soothing embrace. One time, while wandering around in a bad part of town, he was mugged. The bastards even took his shoes, but not before he fought a clumsy fight; he was too drunk to coordinate an actual retaliation. Without his wallet, cell phone, or his shoes, he had walked around downtown until he found a payphone. He had called her collect then too, asking if she could come pick him up by cab... and bring him shoes. She arrived an hour later, carrying a sleeping toddler in her arms, glaring at him out the cab's window. Their ride home was quiet but tense. She gave him a day to recover and then lashed out at him with a vengeance.

"Rissa, please," he implored her and she audibly snorted in disdain. She didn't like it when he called her that; he wasn't allowed to anymore, not since he told her to get the Hell out of his life when she was five months pregnant; not since he told her that after being responsible for the whole damn world, the last thing he wanted was to be responsible for her child. He broke something in Marissa that day; something he was never able to fix no matter how hard he has been trying to since.

"You let that _maniac_ into your home," she accused him heatedly; "You let him near Adriel!"

"I know," he whispered, casting his eyes down; "I'm sorry. I... I wasn't thinking straight."

"Sorry won't cut it, Hiro. You've made your bed – now lie in it. Leave us out of it."

And she hung up.

Heero gaped at the receiver, stupefied. Marissa actually _hung up_ on him.

"Shit," he muttered and slammed the receiver back into place. He really screwed up this time. He always trusted that, like a mother and her wayward son, he could do Marissa wrong and she would still come through for him. But he was not her son, nor her lover; only the father of her child – and even that was a secret they kept to themselves. She didn't owe him anything.

"I need a drink," he grumbled bitterly, bowing his head for he was so very tired of dealing with just about anything. He leaned his forehead against the wall under the payphone and simply breathed in and out of a while. Eventually, he pushed away from the wall, straightening up, and reached for the phone again so that he could call the only person he could talk to when the urge to drink resurfaced:

"Hodgins," Jerry answered his cell phone curtly after the operator connected the collect-call. He didn't wait for Heero to acknowledge him and quickly added: "What's wrong?"

"I need a ride," Heero stated straight and to the point; "And about three shots of whiskey," he sighed; "...maybe more."

"Where are you?" Jerry asked briskly; the older man probably suspected that he was in some bar, as he often was while making such calls when they were first paired up for sponsorship in AA.

"Penn Hospital," he said and could actually feel the tension ease a bit. "I had an accident."

"I know you did," Jerry scoffed irately; "That would make for  _two_  incidents in one day you didn't report or press charges."

"Don't start."

"I could've taken care of the bitch that ran into you."

"It was an accident."

"One she should be held accountable for. Dammit, Hiro – you didn't even swap insurance details with the broad! There were a couple of people here in Accounting who went _ballistic_ when they saw the medical bill! They come to me when you pull these stunts, you know."

"I know." That was the closest thing to an apology he was ever to give the man.

"Preventer might cover your insurance, but that doesn't mean you don't have to play by the rules."

Oh, he knew _all_ there was to know about _rules_. "Are you done?" he snapped.

"Guess I am."

"Come get me;" Heero ordered tersely for there was no need for common courtesy when it came to Jerry. The man was ex-military; he didn't have to start skirting around an issue. He supposed that they wouldn't have become friends otherwise. In many ways, they were both cut from the same cloth. Even though they had fought on opposite sides, they understood each other as only two ex-combatants could.

"I need something to wear," he added to his request; "and some shoes."

"Well _, this_ sure takes me back," Jerry grumbled scornfully.

"Don't go there," Heero warned, sighing.

"Fine, I'll be there first thing in the morning."

"No, now."

"Now?"

"Now."

There was silence on the other end of the line before Jerry spoke again: "Give me thirty minutes," he said and Heero hung up the call.

*             *             *

In the beginning, there was darkness. Reality was without form, and void. Darkness was upon the face of the deep. In this nothingness, Duo moved upon the face of dark waters dripping silently into tranquil pools of black, running deep into the very core of his being.

And then there was light: pale, blue, ethereal light pouring through an invisible window up ahead. He drifted towards it, being pulled by the Earth's irresistible gravity.

He was standing in front of a closed wooden door, adorned with golden lining. It creaked as it opened slowly, moved by a mysterious force. Gradually, it faded away, leaving him standing in a dark, featureless, room. He was greeted by a familiar sight of silvery ration packs floating in the void around him, gleaming in the pale Earth light.

A dog was barking loudly, howling as though in pain. He couldn't see it anywhere, but he knew that its cries were coming from inside the dark room.

"Fucking _mutt,_ " he cussed angrily. He should have left Chowder out on the street instead of taking it back with him to Heero's place. Why did Heero need a dog anyway? That was ridiculous – a dog couldn't own another dog!

Duo laughed, amused by his own twisted logic. His mad laughter bounced off metallic walls, echoing in the dark room.

The damn dog was still wailing like a wounded animal.

"Shuddup!" Duo screamed at it. "Sobaka, kotoraya laet, no ne kusaet!"

Six little words; that was all it took. The dog fell silent with a high-pitched wail.

"That's better," Duo sighed with relief. "Just had to say the magic words, right?"

But saying them was not enough to be rid of the curse. The words kept circling in the back of his head; way down deep, right behind the silent echoes of Heero's despaired cries.

_'A barking dog never bites...'_ they kept whispering, coming and going like gentle ripples, oozing leisurely into his consciousness, dripping bit by bit as they coated his brain, engulfing it, blocking all reason. The ripples constantly brushed against his psyche, eroding his mind little by little, like a river carving its way through solid rock. Those words, much like water molding the landscape over the course of many millennia, were slowly reshaping his mind. They remained tucked away safely in his subconscious, never surfacing up high enough to alert awareness and reason. He was only thinking about them because he had fallen asleep.

Duo woke up with a start, his eyes snapping wide open as he realized that he had nodded off, tilting forward in his seat until he felt that he was about to fall and therefore jerked awake. The ripples receded. The six little words were pulled away with the receding tide, back to where they could remain hidden safely; back to where they could do the most damage.

Duo readjusted his sitting position on the uncomfortable plastic chair and ran a hand through his shoulder-length hair. Then he noticed that Heero's bed was empty and he froze, alarmed.

"Heero?" he called and stood up, looking around the room. He sent a glance towards the ensuite bathroom, but the door was wide open and he could see that it was empty. Then he noted that the wheelchair an orderly brought into the room that afternoon was gone.

"Damn it," Duo grunted as he stomped towards the door. "That damn _knucklehead_ never could sit still for more than a damn sec—" he froze abruptly, attacked by an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. Suddenly he felt a little woozy.

"Wow..." he let out, wobbling slightly. He recalled saying the exact same thing once... long ago. When?

On MO2; when Heero vanished from the infirmary. The memories were fuzzy, like a dream; a recurring dream he's been having since he arrived at Heero's place. All week he's been dreaming about the night the Eve Wars ended; the night he had spent guarding Heero's sleep on the floor of MO2's sickbay.

It all came back to MO2, didn't it? Something happened there... something... _terrible_. Something he didn't even dare to dream about.

Duo turned to face the empty bed behind him, a wretched look on his face. He studied the vacant bed, the wrinkled sheets and the tossed-away blanket. They all seemed so... desolate; abandoned. There was a heavy sense of grief radiating from that bed; traces of Heero, remnants of a vanquished warrior. That melancholic residue was all that remained of the _"Perfect Soldier"_ , but those traces weren't left of the empty hospital bed before him; he was thinking of the bed on MO2.

He remembered how, after hours of sitting on the floor with Heero lying asleep against him, some damn Ozzie doctor finally came to tell them that there was a vacant bed. They moved the injured Wing ZERO pilot to a stretcher and gave Heero a sedative to keep him unconscious for at least twelve more hours, allowing his scorched lungs some time to recover before resuming a more strenuous activity. Once the doctor left, he carefully took Heero's soaked flight-suit off and covered him with a blanket, allowing him to sleep more comfortably.

Duo recalled how awkward he felt tending to the unconscious pilot, but no one else would ever bother making sure Heero was comfortable and by all means he should have at least been shown that minimum amount of human courtesy. It was probably the most intimate moment he had ever shared with Heero, albeit the boy was unconscious.

He sat by Heero's side, holding an oxygen mask against his face to ease his tortured breathing. It was only hours later that another damn Ozzie doctor came and replaced the mask with an oxygen line attached under the young pilot's nostrils. He was so relieved to finally let go of the damn mask and stretch his aching arms.

Looking at Heero's sleeping face, he couldn't help but smile. The war was finally over and they made it out alive. He was exhilarated; thrilled by the notion of finally being able to show Heero everything they've been missing out on. He knew that somewhere deep down Heero was willing to learn; he ached to be someone other than The Soldier and Duo couldn't wait to help Heero free himself of that shackling role. Heero could be so much more than a weapon of war; there was something about him. Quatre called it "The Heart of Space". Heero's was a heart that could empathize with people wholly, shouldering burdens that weren't his to bear. That was how strong Heero was, how kind he could truly be. Now that they could finally lay down their arms, he wanted Heero to live free of these burdens. He wanted to be there as Heero learned that there was more to his existence than pain, suffering and death. He wanted to be more than a friendly comrade; he wanted to be Heero's friend, the one to stand by him as he learned about the word he had fought to protect.

God, he hated thinking back to that night! So fucking _embarrassing_! He was such a stupid kid at sixteen, believing he had a future alongside Heero. That was so _clingy_ it made him sick! Why was he so fucking obsessed with that guy? It humiliated him to think back on just how much he expected out of the _Perfect Soldier_ , and how easily his expectations were dismissed. Heero didn't care; he left MO2 without a word. He was such a gullible fool to believe that their friendship could survive outside the battlefield. Heero didn't need him when there were no more battles to fight. Heero didn't need him as a friend, yet he was still hung up on the guy like he was the only other fucking person in the world! Pathetic.

And yet, Duo couldn't help but feel he had been robbed of something unjustly. It didn't make sense that things would change to abruptly, that Heero would choose to leave just like that. It seemed as though he was missing an important piece of the puzzle that constituted his shaky bond with Heero. The man obviously knew what that missing _thing_ was, but he refused to share this secret. All he had to go on were the freaky dreams he's been having lately. The missing piece of the puzzle had to do with MO2. It was a lingering darkness that will haunt him for eternity. The aftermath of this unexplained darkness will forever remain scorched onto his subconscious. He had to know where it came from.

The only thing he remembered about MO2 was getting Heero out of that burning-hot cockpit, taking care of him in the infirmary and then going on a little scavenger's hunt below decks to search for some booze. When he came back to the infirmary with some champagne glasses he had found, Heero was gone. He searched for him, but found no trace of the Wing ZERO pilot. At some point he wound up in that room below decks where he had found the champagne flutes and stayed there a while, brooding as he gazed out the window solemnly, wondering where Heero could be.

Something drove Heero away, which mean that whatever has led their friendship astray lay with Heero. The man was holding onto this secret with a vengeance. He had to find him. Nothing else mattered anymore. His sanity began and ended with Heero; there was nothing more to it. He had to know so they could finally move on.

Duo stormed out of the small hospital room and into the hallway. It was dark and only an elderly nurse was on duty, sitting behind a desk in the nurses' station.

"Hey!" he called as he made his way towards her; "Have you seen a patient wandering around when he shouldn't?"

"Yeah," she grunted over a book she was reading; "he said he had to call home." She gestured with her head towards the end of the hall. Duo was about to offer a curt nod of gratitude, but instead he froze, his whole body tensing. His eyes glazed over, gawking ahead numbly.

_Home_.

The word echoed in his mind, attacking his psyche from every angle.

For a spilt second he was a filthy little street-urchin on L2, gazing with hungry eyes at a lucky little puppy being taken off the streets and into the arms of a loving family and a warm, welcoming, _home._

It was such a simple word people threw around mindlessly. It was used so carelessly. People never took the time to think just how much of their very soul was poured into that single word. A _home_ was not a place of residence, nor was it a mere living space for one to store his possessions. People didn't just say that they _'felt at home'_ in the company of loved ones. _'Home is where the heart is',_ they said, but a heart was apparently never enough because he had loved many and never had a home long enough to enjoy it. A _Home_ was not for the likes of him; and neither was it for people like Heero.

_'Unlike the others, we don't have a home to go back to,'_ Heero had said back then, on MO2. He didn't recall having that conversation, but he knew that he had. Now this damn nurse was saying that Heero had gone to phone _home_. Heero had a _home._ He was no longer some stray, filthy, _mutt_ roaming around aimlessly. No; Heero had a place he belonged, somewhere he called _home_ and this _home_ consisted of people he cared for; a _family_ he could rely on in his time of need. And he was _never_ going to be a part of that!

_'Because you're my friend, Duo...you're all I've got.'_

**_Lies!_ **

Duo's mind reeled with rage.

The damn needy _mutt_ has found a _home!_ The miserable _dog_ has been taken in by a loving family and left him to fend on his own on the streets! He was forever doomed to remain the filthy orphaned child standing out in the cold, watching some smiling family gather a lone puppy into their arms and take it into their warm, loving, _home_.

Old burning feelings of rage and abandonment, the painful feelings of a betrayed child, coursed through Duo like wildfire consuming everything in its path. Contempt sizzled under his skin, boiling in his blood, obliterating all reason. Somehow, he knew that he had to really _hurt_ Heero. He simply had to. He was about to destroy something terribly fragile, and he was about to enjoy it too.

Madness took over; an uncontrollable tidal-wave of darkness swept swiftly thorough his mind, flooding every rational corner. Only savage instincts remained; the deep need to dominate and conquer surfaced from the deeps, drowning once perfectly sound regions of his psyche.

Heero just broke Rule Number One and the consequences of this foolish error were now pulsating furiously in Duo's head. He will make Heero pay.

*             *             *

A black SUV stopped in front of the hospital entrance; parking slantwise in the _"Security Only"_ reserved spot. Jerry stepped out of the car, dressed in Preventer uniforms. He hoisted a small gym bag over his shoulder, slammed the door shut in a hurry and walked hastily across the entrance plaza leading into the hospital. He flashed his Preventer badge at the security guard before disappearing into the main hospital building.

In his rush, the agent never noticed that he was being watched from the shadows. A pair of fierce cobalt eyes followed his every move as the shadowy figure stood leaning against a wall concealed by darkness, save for the bright orange edge of his burning cigarette. Glaring angrily, Duo finished his smoke and dropped the burning butt onto the concrete pavement. He crushed it violently with his heavy military boot and stepped out of the shadows.

*             *             *

Jerry walked into Heero's hospital room carrying a pair of crutches. The young man was seated on the bed, his legs propped up, while a nurse changes the bulky cast around his left leg with a compression bandage. As the agent entered the room and closed the door behind him, she finished wrapping the bandage around Heero's thigh. She had already wrapped one around his left arm, which now lay limply in a sling.

"You'll need to keep pressure off this leg for a while, until the femur-bone heals," she reminded Heero softly and he nodded in confirmation. Jerry watched him carefully, noting the nasty black and blue bruises on the left side of his pale face. Common sense suggested that it was far too early for the young man to leave the hospital, but knowing him Jerry was well aware that there was no point in arguing.

"Feel well," the nurse mumbled and left the room.

Jerry approached the bed and placed the crutches against it. The gym bag he brought with him laid zipped open on the bed next to Heero. He watched the young man reach for the clothes inside.

"I couldn't find Duo anywhere," the agent informed him as the young man wriggled his broken arm out of the sling before he moved to carefully remove his hospital gown. Even though he asked Jerry to see where Duo had gone, Heero didn't give his response as he pulled a T-shirt down over his head with one hand and then cautiously slid his broken left arm through the sleeve. It was a khaki T-shirt with a Preventer insignia on it; Jerry's spare work clothes, he presumed. The only reason the doctors approved his early-discharge in the middle of the night was because the agent informed them that it had to do with urgent official Preventer business. Heero supposed that the Class-B uniforms added a convincing touch.

"No one's seen him since he left the ward earlier tonight," Jerry said. "I could check outside," he offered.

Heero turned to put on the black trousers Jerry brought him, which was a little trickier than the T-shirt. His left leg refused to cooperate, but he has had a lot of practice getting dressed with a damaged left leg, so he managed.

"Leave him be," he muttered as he tightened a belt around his waist, to keep the large pants up. He pulled a pair of standard-issue military boots out of the bag as well. Jerry took half a step forward as a silent offer of assistance, but a quick glare from Heero was enough to send him a step back. He watched the young man maneuver his broken body awkwardly until he managed to put one boot on his right foot; he had no use for the other one. He then finally got off the bed, standing on one foot as he reached for the crutches. He turned to Jerry, his expression harsh.

"Let's go," he said curtly and followed the agent out of the room with the use of his crutches.

*             *             *

In the wee hours of the night, the city of Philadelphia was engulfed in a heavy cloud of summertime humidity. The moisture glowed; a faint orange aura surrounding every streetlamp illuminating the empty roads. Red and green halos glared around traffic lights. The humidity was so dense that Jerry had to turn on the wipers to be rid of an obscuring layer of condensation. The wipers move left and right, smearing the moisture across the windshield before more droplets formed on the cool glass.

The red halo engulfing the car turned green and the vehicle sped away. It was only three intersections later when Heero realized that Jerry wasn't heading in the direction of his neighborhood. He had failed to pick up on it due to his poor and narrow vision, but once he recognized a large billboard that wasn't supposed to be on his way home, he turned to Jerry with an angry glare.

"What's this?" he demanded irritably; "I asked to go home."

"There's just one thing I need you to do first," Jerry replied apologetically, keeping his eyes on the road. "It won't take long," he promised and turned the car in a familiar direction. Looking out the windshield, Heero could see that they were approaching the Preventer Philadelphian Field Office. He sighed tiredly.

"I've already told you that I won't press charges against anyone," he reminded Jerry coldly.

"That's not it," the agent assured him; and before Heero could ask he added: "and it's not about that damn insurance policy either."

"Then what is it?" Heero grunted just as Jerry stopped the car in front of the low-rise office building. The agent stepped out of the car and leaned inside to look at his reluctant passenger.

"Hiro, please, I'm just trying to do my job."

"It's not about _her_ is it?" Heero muttered disdainfully, scowling at the agent. "If she's here again then you can tell her she can sho—"

"It's not about the Senator," Jerry exhaled with a sigh. "Just get out of the car."

"Tell me what for."

"If I tell you then you won't come with me."

" _As if I have a choice_ ," Heero groused bitterly and reached for his crutches. It took him a while, but he managed to step clumsily out of the vehicle. Sending Jerry a resentful glare, he followed the agent into the building. He wobbled behind him as they walked down dark empty halls. The crutches' rubber soles squeaked each time they slid against the polished floor, disturbing the tense silence.

Jerry stopped in front of an interrogation room and gestured at the closed door, signaling Heero to stop. Once the agent opened the door for him, things started to make a little sense:

Sitting by the interrogation table was one Quatre R. Winner, known to a few as ex-Gundam pilot 04 and to all others as the wealthy heir of the Winner Space Mining Cooperation. When he noticed their arrival, Quatre stood up and nodded a curt greeting for hello. He was dressed in a formal dark business suit and a traditional Arab keffiyeh around his neck. His medium-length blond hair was brushed back neatly, emphasizing his harsh, matured features and fierce ocean-blue eyes. The last Heero had seen Quatre face-to-face, he was a sixteen-year-old boy with soft, round features and gentle eyes. The young man standing before him was nothing like that boy; this was a stern and ruthless businessman, his eyes burning with barely suppressed rage.

"Hello Heero," the blond businessman greeted briskly; his tone smooth and cold. "Thank you for coming down here so late at night."

Heero remained standing at the doorway, leaning heavily on his crutches. He stared at Quatre with a stony expression, trying to mask the turmoil of emotions this sudden encounter has stirred in him. He didn't appreciate being thrust into the past without warning, much like a jump forced him to face issues he had put behind him with much effort. First Duo, now Quatre. He swore that if anyone else will suddenly show up, he will punch them straight in the face, smash one crutch on their head and leave!

Jerry was the first to walk into the interrogation room. He pulled out the chair opposite to Quatre's and turned to Heero while gesturing at him to take a seat.

"This won't take long," he promised, trying to pacify the tense young man.

Purposely ignoring him, Heero limped towards the chair and stood behind it, refusing to take a seat and find himself in an inferior position with two other men towering above him.

"We just have a few questions," Jerry explained; apologetic. Heero turned his scowl at him, and the agent elaborated: "Mister Winner asked Preventer to keep an eye on Duo," he explained; "I've been following him since he stepped out of the airport."

Heero turned to glare at Quatre. "Why?"

The young blond man turned his harsh blue eyes at the injured young man.

"Heero," he muttered reproachfully; "do you have anyidea what Duo's been up to since the war ended? Do you know where he's been these past few years?"

"No," Heero let out spitefully, scowling at Quatre. "And I don't care to know," he added tiredly. The chair was beginning to look very inviting – he was terribly exhausted – but he refused to sit down just yet. He didn't want Quatre standing over him.

"Well, some of us didn't have the privilege of _disappearing_ ," Quatre accused nastily; "Without you around, he turned to _me_ for help."

"So?" Heero snapped back and fixed his fierce gaze on the ignorant blond, returning his condemning glare. While he had absolutely no intention of enlightening Quatre about the tragic circumstances of his _"disappearance"_ , he still resented the accusation. He scowled defiantly at the cold businessman, daring him to continue his pointless accusations.

It was hard to believe that he was standing in front of the same person who had at one time nursed him back to health after a lengthy captivity by OZ. He had spent long torturous weeks held by the enemy, used as a damn guanine-pig undergoing endless grueling experiments by OZ's scientists. They were trying to build a mobile suit capable of battling the Gundams, and who better to pilot it than their prized possession – a captured Gundam pilot. They were experimenting with a ZERO type system, but with little luck, until Wing ZERO fell into their lap.

Quatre was the one to discover the ZERO System's blueprints. He had used his vast resources to build the Wing ZERO Gundam without knowing what the system was capable of, how easily it sent pilots over the brink of sanity. Quatre was the first to experience this psychosis; he had obliterated whole colonies before OZ sent him, their captive and unwilling human specimen, to put a stop to the madness. In retrospection, that was a big mistake on OZ's part. Keeping two Gundam pilots imprisoned together was a plan doomed to fail.

They escaped, but not before he was forced to endure more of OZ's tests, this time on the actual ZERO System. He had lost his mind to the System and tore the base apart during one of the experiments[1]. He had no recollection of how it all ended, but he knew that Quatre was the one to pull him out of his madness, and tended to him until he was once again capable of thinking without ZERO shrieking loudly in his head.

Now, looking at the young blond man standing in front of him, Heero saw no trace of the kind and tender boy he once knew. The last ten years have changed him, turned him bitter and angry. Quatre exhibited no compassion whatsoever; just resentment and contempt burned in his ruthless eyes as he glared at him sharply.

"Hiro," Jerry broke the intense silence before one of the ex-pilots would suddenly snap; "What Quatre is trying to say is that Duo has spent the last seven years in an L4 prison."

He turned his head up towards the agent, his expression unreadable.

"He did time for voluntary manslaughter," Jerry elaborated carefully; "his sentence was reduced and he was paroled a few days ago."

Quatre scoffed insolently. "That's what people get nowadays for _raping and murdering_ teenage girls!" he muttered disdainfully and Heero whirled his head in his direction, his eyes wide, stunned. Duo had done what?!

"He killed my niece, Heero," Quatre grumbled as though he had read his mind. Sometimes, it felt like the blond was doing just that; the man was an extraordinary empath.

"He butchered her like a _dog!_ " Quatre continued heatedly; "He drugged her, _raped_ her and then sliced her up until she bled to death!"

Heero felt sick. He wobbled faintly, losing his balance, and gripped the crutches tightly or else he'd fall.

"Malice intent was never proven," Jerry corrected. "The evidence suggested that both the drug abuse and intercourse were done with her full consent. It was just sex-play gone wrong. They were playing with a knife and it got out of hand."

"The Hell it did!" Quatre exclaimed heatedly. "He slayed her like an animal, Heero! He sliced her groin, serving a main artery and _fucked_ her until she bled dry!"

A lump formed in his throat and Heero swallowed hard, forcing it down. He felt faint... The scar on his groin was suddenly throbbing painfully; it stung as though fresh. He had to sit down.

Jerry picked up on his sudden paleness and drew the chair back so he could sit. For a moment, Heero simply sat quietly, slumped tiredly on the chair as he stared numbly at the interrogation table.

"Why are you telling me this?" he finally asked; his voice was bleak and hoarse with fatigue. He turned to look up at Quatre, meeting the man's seething ocean-blue eyes with a wretched gaze.

"Because you need to know what kind of  _friend_  you're helping out here, Heero. You need to know the truth! That man is dangerously insane. He might have fooled the parole board into letting him out early on good behavior, selling them his _sob story_ and _inspiring_ them with his so-called _return_ to his Catholic faith, but he can't fool me! I would have told you about this sooner, but we didn't know where you were. Duo's the only one who can sniff you out."

Heero looked away, not appreciating the reference. He sighed and turned to Jerry. "You brought me here just to tell me about Duo?"

"Quatre wants to know where he is," Jerry explained.

"I don't know where he is," Heero grunted, glaring angrily at the agent. "You already know that," he accused defiantly.

"He was with you all week," Quatre insisted.

"And now he's gone," Heero informed him calmly; "He left the hospital before I did. I don't know where he is."

"Well, he'll come back, Heero;" Quatre warned; "And when he does, I want you to call me." He handed Heero a business card. "I mean it, Heero. Call me the minute you see him again."

Heero took the card, studying it with a wary frown. He looked back at Quatre. "What for?" he finally asked.

"I have a score to settle."

"I can't be hearing this," Jerry muttered, shaking his head and raising his hand up in a dismissing motion.

"Then leave," Quatre hissed at him.

"You came here seeking vengeance?" Heero asked dolefully, staring numbly at the card in his hand.

"I came for _justice_ , something the court doesn't seem to deliver anymore," Quatre grumbled, scowling darkly.

Heero sighed, his shoulders slumping down tiredly. "There is no justice when it comes to Duo," he said; too cryptically for anyone to decipher.

"They have a way of settling things on L2," Quatre objected. "I believe Duo will appreciate the sentiment."

"What he did has nothing to do with growing up on L2."

"Don't be so sure. You can take the man out of L2, but you can't take L2 out of the man."

"That's pure prejudice," Heero admonished; "You know Duo better than that."

"Don't defend him! You know more than anyone about where Duo came from... the things he did... Do you honestly believe that he's innocent?"

"None of us is innocent," Heero pointed out wearily.

"Well, some are more innocent than others."

Heero rubbed his aching bloodshot eyes. Being forced to look at the world without the aid of his eyeglasses was very straining. He struggled to keep his throbbing eyes open. Jerry noted his fatigue and turned to Quatre.

"You got what you came here for," he pointed out harshly; "Hiro doesn't know where he is. Let the man go, he's been through enough for one day."

If only Jerry knew just _how much_ he had gone through... Heero mused sullenly. He felt as though he had re-experienced a lifetime in the past twenty four hours. Perhaps he had. Either way, he was beyond exhausted. He couldn't handle this right now, he just couldn't. He felt so drained, deflated. He couldn't even keep up the pretense anymore. He went numb, slumping into the chair as he stared dully at the bare interrogation table.

Quatre glared down at Heero, examining the young man quietly. He was sitting slouched tiredly in his seat, holding onto the crutches leaning over his lap. His head was bowed down and his long bangs dangled before his eyes. Even so, Quatre could still see the bruises running from his left temple down to his cheek, evidence of the hard blow he had received when the car had hit him. At the sight of the meager, ill and broken ex-pilot, the harsh expression on Quatre's face gradually softened. Exhaling lengthily, he sat down, folding his hands over the interrogation table. He studied Heero with sensible blue eyes, concern apparent on his face.

"How long are they giving you?" he asked carefully.

Heero shrugged without lifting his head. "I don't know," he mumbled meekly; "Not long."

"It's the ZERO System," Quatre stated and Heero finally raised his head up to look at him; he seemed a bit startled.

"ZERO?" he rasped tiredly, confused.

Quatre nodded sternly. "The ZERO System operates on a delta wave frequency, similar to brain activity during REM sleep. That's how it taps into your mind, feeding you information by fooling your brain into thinking that it's dreaming. That's how you can process so much information in such a short time. ZERO overloads the occipital and temporal lobes, stimulating them as it feeds information directly into the visual and memory centers of your brain," he explained. "Then there's the gamma wave activity—"

"There's no such thing as neuro-gamma waves," Heero countered harshly; ever the realist. "Don't try selling me that ridiculous _unity of human consciousness_ crap."

"How else do you think ZERO works?" Quatre insisted; "It interprets the gamma wave signals of the people around you, that's how it _knows_. That's how _you_ know what they're going to do. ZERO doesn't predict the future, Heero. It simply taps into a shared consciousness and makes you aware of _everything_. Like I said, that's too much for one person to take and the brain reacts by sprouting growths. The tumors grow as a result of prolonged exposure."

Heero turned to look up in Jerry's direction, glaring angrily at the man. "Have you been reporting to him too?" he demanded starkly, angry that Quatre was aware of personal, confidential, medical information.

"He didn't have to," Quarter interjected before the agent had time to respond; "I already knew, because I suffered from the same thing. I'm amazed that you've lasted this long, because you used ZERO for far longer than I did. I can't imagine the amount of information you've been exposed to when on board that thing. The neurological affects are staggering."

Heero turned to face Quatre, startled. His doctors always assumed that the tumors were somehow the result of his brain injury, maybe combined with his excessive drinking; it never occurred to anyone that the cause could be external. Then again, not many knew about the ZERO System. Only Quatre seemed to know how that demonic machine actually worked.

"You suffered from... from this too?" he asked shakily, overwhelmed by the revelation: here he was, losing his mind to Wing ZERO once again and this time – the result was going to be fatal. His mind was literally being consumed by the System.

"Yes," Quatre confirmed somberly; "But unlike you, I was smart enough to have them removed when they were first discovered."

"My case is a bit more complex," Heero muttered grimly, but refrained from elaborating about his decade-long struggle with a damaged brain. It was none of Quatre's business.

"It can be done," Quatre stated; "We've been looking into the ZERO System for quite some time. I can call in some favors to get you into an experimental procedure on L4."

"In exchange for Duo," Heero surmised, his Prussian blue eyes glowering accusingly.

Quatre's silence signaled his confirmation.

"This is sick!" Jerry exclaimed. "You're not sitting at a _poker table_ here, Winner! This is Hiro's life you're talking about!"

"A life for a life," Quatre declared firmly. "Heero understands."

"No, I don't," Heero sighed and he struggled to stand up steadily, arranging the crutches under his armpits; a tricky endeavor considering he only had one functional arm.

"I don't see the point behind more bloodshed," he said, his eyes burning fiercely with defiance as he glared at Quatre. "The answer is no," he concluded; "I won't hand Duo over to you." He turned to Jerry: "I'm going home."

The agent nodded in agreement. He went to open the door for the injured young man and escorted him out of the room. Before leaving, he sent Quatre a reprimanding glare. There was much he would have said to the pretentious businessman, if he wasn't certain that he would lose his job soon after.

Quatre remained alone behind the interrogation table, seething with anger. He slammed his fists down furiously, pushed away from the table hastily and hurried out of the room.

*             *             *

He caught up with the two in the parking lot in front of the Preventer building. The night air was still and extremely humid. Dawn signaled its approach by tinting the sky with a slightly lighter shade of dark blue. Heero was just about to enter Jerry's black SUV when he heard Quatre call: "Wait!"

Both Heero and Jerry looked up in his direction.

"You're right," Quatre huffed as he approached, slowing down from his run. "My assistance should be unconditional, I'm sorry," he apologized, panting. "I was going about this the wrong way."

The ex-04 pilot was slightly shorter than the ex-Wing ZERO pilot, so he was looking up at the other man with a pair of remorseful ocean-blue eyes.

"I was the one who built the ZERO System..." he spoke ruefully; "I discovered the blueprints. In a way, I did this to you."

Heero studied the young man quietly, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

"You're stretching it," he finally accused. "It was my choice to pilot ZERO. I don't have the right to blame anyone for my misfortune. I did what had to be done. We wouldn't have been able to end the war otherwise."

"But it was my choice to construct that dreadful thing... just like it was my choice to let Duo into my home when I should have known better..." Quatre sighed the words miserably. His tortured blue eyes pleaded for understanding. "I have to do this, Heero... I have to make sure he doesn't hurt anyone ever again."

It suddenly occurred to Heero that it wasn't the need for revenge that was driving Quatre, but guilt.

"You think this has something to do with the time Duo was forced to use ZERO," he concluded solemnly.

Quatre cast his gaze down shamefully, nodding. "He called it a devil that can't be tamed..." he mumbled, staring at his polished black shoes; "He was right. It only took one ride on that thing and Duo lost himself to that devil."

Back when all five pilots were reunited before the final battle over Libra, Duo told them that some _"freaky Ozzie"_ captured him when he was hiding out on L2. The officerwas obsessed with the ZERO System and was hunting down Gundam pilots to be used as guanine-pigs[2]. The damn Ozzie took the whole L2 Colony hostage as leverage, thus forcing Duo to pilot the experimental Wing ZERO Gundam for him. Later on, when they were alone, Duo mentioned that he had never experienced such a "bad trip" in his _life_. By then Heero had more or less gotten the hang of the system and has been using it for weeks. However, Duo's encounter with the ZERO System was very brief. Heero was painfully aware of the fact that Duo's madness was of a completely different source.

"I can assure you that it has nothing to do with you, or ZERO," he asserted firmly; "Duo only used the system once. ZERO didn't drive him mad... not permanently."

"You didn't see what he was like seven years ago," Quatre argued; "Maybe prison has toned him down a bit, but he was... I can't even describe it..." he let out a troubled sigh, shaking his head. "He wasn't himself... He hasn't been for a very long time. I can't explain it, but I... I sense these things, you know? I see people, somehow... and I know Duo, I... I knew who he was the moment we met. I could see the darkness lurking inside of him, but it wasn't what defined him. It wasn't _him_."

Heero shifted his weight uneasily, leaning heavily on his crutches. He wondered who Quatre sensed when he looked at him now.

Upset, Quatre cast his eyes down briefly before looking Heero again, his eyes shimmering sadly. "The person who came to me seven years ago wasn't Duo Maxwell," he claimed sadly; "All I could sense was that darkness... It has taken over completely. I could barely sense Duo anymore."

It was wrong of him to assume that Quatre lost his compassion for people. The young blond man has always possessed an amazing capacity for understanding human nature, an empathy that was almost supernatural at times. Quatre knew how people felt; he understood them on such an intimate level, as if he was able to read their minds, tuning in on their emotions. Perhaps there was something to the overbearing popular theory that gamma brain-waves may be implicated in creating the unity of conscious perception; maybe, in a way similar to ZERO, Quatre could also read minds. Maybe that was why Quatre was able to use the System far better than he ever could.

It was never truly proven that neocortical gamma waves were related to consciousness, but whichever the case, the ex-04 pilot definitely possessed a unique ability shared by very few space-born and dwelling individuals. No doubt Quatre was the first to notice the change in Duo; the mind-altering effects of the psychosis that was triggered on MO2. He might have realized that something has taken over Duo's mind, but he was wrong to assume that it had anything to do with the ZERO System. Quatre believed that he was the one ultimately responsible for Duo's insanity, but he was wrong. If anyone was at fault – it was him. He had befriended Duo and consequently robbed him of his sanity. He was solely to blame, but he could never speak of it to Quatre.

"At first I thought it was the war, the trauma... you know what it's like..." Quatre mumbled and shifted his glance away awkwardly for a brief moment, avoiding eye contact in an attempt to conceal his own tragic tale from showing in his eyes. He sighed and leveled his gaze with Heero's again.

"He was doing drugs again, falling apart... crashing down fast. I took him in, I tried to help, but there was just something... something underneath the surface that kept pulling him under. He finally snapped when he killed my niece. I was the one at fault, you see... I should have kicked him out of my house the moment I was told she was arriving. I shouldn't have waited for the last minute.

"I can't bring her back, but I owe a great debt to my family. The least I can do is make sure that Duo doesn't repeat his crimes. He shouldn't be allowed to walk around freely, Heero. He's dangerous."

Quatre fell silent, but his eyes burnt intensely, conveying his determination to set things right. Quatre hadn't changed; he was still his old self, only more sober, matured. He wasn't as heedless as he had been as a teenage boy fighting for his beliefs. His actions were more calculated, but his motives remained the same. He was trying to better the world, shielding everyone from what he believed were his mistakes.

"You were always in the habit of blaming yourself for things out of your control," Heero spoke after a long pause. "You still are," he reproached. "What Duo did was not your fault. Why he changed was not your fault either."

"How can you be so certain? Do you even kno—"

"Just take my word for it and leave," Heero cut-in; "There's nothing you can do for either of us."

"You won't accept my help?

"I don't want it," Heero dismissed him evenly and turned to enter the car again. "Don't contact me again," he requested and got in, slamming the door behind him.

Jerry stepped into the car as well, nodding a final goodbye at Quatre. The black SUV drove off, leaving the blond businessman standing alone in front of the Preventer Building. The keffiyeh around his neck flapped in the wind as he watched as the black vehicle disappeared behind a street corner.

After a while, Quatre turned to leave; completely unaware of the pair of dark, wrathful cobalt eyes watching him from the shadows of an alleyway across the street. Those eyes, which had been watching the whole encounter from afar, narrowed in mistrust at the sight of an apparent conspiracy unfolding before them. Once Quatre was gone, Duo stepped out of the shadows, his fists and jaw clenched angrily.

*             *             *

Heero got home at the crack of dawn, exhausted. Stumbling tiredly into his apartment, supported by crutches, he was immediately faced with the mess Duo left in his living room: boxes of takeout on the coffee table, beer bottles on the floor and flies circling filthy leftovers. The broken glass panel on the living room window allowed insects to enter, escaping the heat as they sought refuge in his small apartment. His workstation under the window was in disarray. The tangled sheets on the black leather sofa reeked of cigarettes, adding to the terrible stench in the room.

Heero stared dully at the mess, too numb to care. Usually a professional cleaning service came over once a week, but he had canceled their services for the week of Duo's stay. Right now, he couldn't care less about the mess; he was too tired to deal with anything.

Chowder barked loudly; the sound was coming from the laundry room. Heero realized that his pet has been locked in there for nearly two days. He limped with the use of his crutches to the closed utility-room door and freed his pet from his imprisonment. He couldn't even bring himself to be angry with Duo for abusing his pet. He was completely numb inside, disconnected... drained. He was unable to conjure up anymore feelings after the emotional roller-coaster of a jump he had just disembarked.

His poor dog was agitated, barking in frenzy. Heero bent down carefully on his one good knee and stroked the dog's golden furry back in a mindless soothing motion. Gradually, the distraught animal calmed down, wailing quietly. He gathered Chowder into his arms, hugging his pet and burying his face in his soft furry neck until Chowder's weeping ceased completely. Heero drew back and ruffled Chowder's furry head playfully. He gave his pet a small, strained, smile, trying to break free of the numbness gripping his heart and offer some genuine reassurance, but that was a transparent lie; he was too hopeless to pretend.

The sun crept slowly across the heavens. Faint morning light poured through the laundry room window. Those first rays of sunshine found Heero seated on the laundry room floor, feeding Chowder doggy treats. The large canine consumed them hungrily, inhaling them off his owner's hand and licking the crumbs eagerly after each treat. Moving his hand stiffly, Heero reached inside the box and pulled out another biscuit, serving it to his pet as he stared ahead dolefully, his eyes glazed over.

Chowder moved away to face his bowl of water. Sounds of gulping filled the quiet room as the large dog drank fervently. He then turned back to his owner, wagging his tail. Heero served him another doggy biscuit, without turning to look at the dog; he was still staring ahead dazedly.

The sun climbed higher across the Philadelphia city sky. There were a couple of beer bottles resting on the windowsill; Duo had left them there. A ray of light caught on the green glass, its angle breaking so that it suddenly twinkled, sending a bright green blaze directly into Heero's eyes.

He blinked, coming out of his daze. Slowly, he turned to look at the window. The sunny white light shone on his pale face, emphasizing the dark blue bruises marring his clammy skin. He squinted against the brightness and finally his eyes spotted the two beer bottles standing on the window ledge. There were a few gulps left in each. He stared at them for what felt like an eternity, his heart pounding painfully with an undeniable need for the oblivion found at the bottom of a bottle.

Chowder barked, asking for another treat. Heero served him more, never tearing his eyes off the bottles. He considered getting up and fetching them. Even a few lousy sips of warm stale beer would be a welcomed blessing at this point, but he didn't have it in him to move. He looked away, his shoulders slumping as he released a forlorn sigh. He resumed staring ahead dully, feeding Chowder the rest of the box.

By nightfall, he had already been in bed for a few good hours. He lay on his back, watching the ceiling fan above him spin lazily. He listened to its soothing electric hum, his mind empty of thought. Chowder was lying beside him, sleeping huddled against him while he rested his one good arm around the large dog.

The fan spun round and round slowly. Heero's eyes followed each blade as it turned. Cars drove down the street, their headlights streaking the ceiling with shards of yellow light as they drove past the low-rise building. Sounds of the busy urban neighborhood poured through the window, engulfing the silent bedroom in a hectic ambience.

"That girl died because of me..."

Heero's dazed whisper could barely be heard over the sounds of the city. Chowder raised his head up to look at his owner with big brown eyes shimmering in the dark. Heero's Prussian blue eyes also gleamed faintly, flooded with unshed tears. He blinked and a lone tear spilled, sliding sorrowfully down his bruised left cheek.

*             *             *

A sunny Friday morning came pouring violently through his bedroom window. Moaning, Heero threw an arm over his closed eyes, trying to shield them from the bright assault. His head pulsed with an unbearable migraine. His stomach roiled with the usual nausea accompanying such acute migraines. It has been a while since he had last taken his medication and he felt the regrettable results prominently.

The second feeling that registered with his throbbing mind was that Chowder was no longer lying by his side. Then he realized that he had been covered by a blanket, and that his sore damaged left leg was elevated, propped on a few pillows to make his rest more comfortable. Alarm hammered painfully into his heart and he scrambled up to a sitting position. Was Duo back? Did he do this? Shit. He had to get out of there – fast!

He grunted painfully as he pushed off the bed. His body refused to cooperate and his left thigh inflamed with agony the moment he tried to move it. But that didn't matter. He had to get out of there or— the front door opened; he could hear the keys jingle as someone walked into the apartment. He froze, his body tensing readily. The sound was followed by another familiar clinking; the sound of Chowder's collar colliding with his nametag. Confused, he frowned warily, and listened:

"...but Joel wouldn't say who did it, so they kicked him outta summer camp," Adriel's chirpy little voice finished telling a tale as he walked into the apartment. The front door was shut, and then locked from the inside. Heero remained half-seated, propped on his one good elbow, listening to the sounds coming from the living room.

"His mom said he's grounded, but he can still have friends over... can I go?"

Chowder barked happily and a heavy paper bag rustled as it was placed on a hard surface; someone had carried in groceries.

"I'll think about it," Heero heard Marissa's voice promise tiredly; "Later."

"But I can stay with Joel 'stead of going to work with you!" Adriel offered in a whiny, demanding tone typical of a boy his age. His son was very fortunate to have been blessed with an ordinary childhood, full of security and unconditional affection. It gave Heero great comfort knowing that his child was free to behave his age, free to make haughty demands he never even dreamed of making when he was Adriel's age.

"His mom won't mind," the seven-year-old continued his bargaining. He was quite a negotiator. Marissa blamed _him_ for bestowing the infuriating bartering trait on their son and he didn't understand why, because he wasn't the type to argue. If anyone was in the habit of being unnecessarily difficult, it was _her_ , but she insisted that his leniency was the cause for Adriel's frustrating skill; the child was used to getting his way, mostly because Heero could deny him nothing.

"That way you can work without having to worry about me all the time," Adriel finished his argument.

"I've already told you that if you don't want to stay at the hotel with me, you can stay with your abuelit," Marissa argued reproachfully. He could hear the grocery bag crackle again as she began unpacking.

"No way!" Adriel protested and Heero suppressed a small, knowing smile. He knew how much his child disliked being with his grandmother, and he sympathized wholly. The strict religious woman simply _loathed_ him for impregnating her daughter and giving her a bastard grandchild. She couldn't take the anger out on him, so she did on his son.

"Adriel, I don't have time for this," Marissa rebuked; "I have to be at work by nine. Either come with me or I'm calling your abuela!"

"Why can't I stay here with Hiro!"

"Because," she sighed; "he's not feeling well."

"Again? Oh man... But I hate staying at the hotel..." the child whined in useless protest; "and grandma's worse!"

"Well, it's a good thing school starts next week."

"What?Already?"

"It sure felt like a lifetime to me," Marissa's comment was followed by the sound of pots rattling as she searched for something in the cookware cabinet. She was making breakfast, he realized, and his stomach churned with sickness and hunger.

"Go watch some TV," Marissa instructed their child; "You have ten minutes to make up your mind."

Sounds of cartoons drifted in from the living room. Heero leaned back against the bed, lying down. He closed his aching eyes, listening to the vague chatter of silly cartoon characters drifting into his bedroom. The small apartment gradually filled with a delicious aroma of home cooking. Marissa was making an omelet and toast, he determined. The scents took him back to a time when she used to cook for him on their Morning-After's, when he would stay over for the weekend, learning to live outside the ward.

The memories became so vivid that for a split second he was twenty-years-old again, sitting by the kitchen table in Marissa's small downtown apartment, watching her cook as a heavy shower pounded against the living room window. It was a frosty Sunday morning, but her apartment was always warm and welcoming, emitting a wonderful sweet scent mixed with the aroma of a homemade meal. Marissa stood in front of the stove, her back turned to him so all he could see was her fluffy pink bathrobe and lush frizzy tresses cascading down her back in disarray, evidence of a passionate night they had spent together.

Heero shook his head forcefully, trying to rid himself of the mental images, scents and sounds; he had to stop himself or he'd jump. Besides, thinking back on those days was too awkward. He felt as though he was reflecting on a child eagerly waiting for his mother to serve him breakfast. His real mother never had time for breakfast; or lunch, or dinner... She would often leave him alone and just disappear for days. He must have been a mere toddler, but he could still recall how he had sat alone by a bare kitchen table, nibbling on a half-frozen readymade meal of spaghetti and meatballs his mother had left defrosting on the kitchen counter. She was away again[3] and he didn't know how to heat up his food so he ate it cold; it was so _yucky_. Marissa never ever failed him that way and her cooking was divine, but the analogy between her and his mother was plain _wrong,_ especially when considering what they usually did the night before Marissa served him breakfast.

Yet, Marissa was more of a maternal figure to him than they both cared to admit. It was no small wonder they couldn't maintain a romantic relationship. Sex with Marissa was just a twisted bonus to an undefined connection that meant so much more than what mere definitions could hold. While he needed her on a very physical level, it wasn't sex that he had longed for; on most days, her embrace had been enough. Still, they wound up in bed regardless of his juvenile dependency on Marissa. After all, they were both adults, with adult needs. It didn't matter anymore, though; those days were behind them.

The familiar metallic jingle returned, snapping Heero from his musings seconds before he lost himself completely in another time and place. Chowder came walking into his bedroom, wagging his tail happily. Heero tapped on the bed lightly, signaling his pet to climb on, and the large dog did as asked, jumping up so he could lie next to Heero. He petted the dog's soft golden fur as he gazed up at the spinning ceiling fan dully, listening to the sound of mundane family life coming from the other part of his apartment. It was a comfort like no other; he cherished normalcy, and he was grateful that once again Marissa has put their differences aside and came through for him.

He winced. The migraine was getting worse. He shouldn't have reflected on the past. He closed his throbbing eyes, trying to ignore it. Everything inside him fluttered and quivered uneasily; he was about to jump again. He inhaled deeply, trying to stop the inventible, but for a few seconds, his mind flashed back to the closest connotation it could find to his current predicament: He was five years into the past, lying in bed, ill and fatigued, recovering from a minor-stroke and abrupt alcohol withdrawal. He lay still, eyes closed, listening to Marissa cleaning up his filthy apartment. He could hear glass clanking as she picked up bottles of liquor from all over the place, cussing and muttering in Spanish. He didn't have to understand her language to know what she was saying.

She was furious with him, like always, but yet she came to pick him up from the hospital after Dr. Grabelsky finally approved his release. She took him home by taxi, their baby boy lying in a portable infant car-seat between them. It was the first time he had laid eyes on his son, but he refused to look at him. He pretended to have fallen asleep all through the ride; that way, he didn't have to look at the world through a dark narrow tunnel and pretend for a while longer that his foolish addiction didn't take such a heavy toll. His health only went downhill after the stroke.

Once she brought him home, Marissa laid Adriel by his side on the bed and went to clean his pigsty of an apartment. He stared at his sleeping son through his limited line of sight while Marissa cleaned. Mesmerized, he studied the infant's features carefully, noting the resemblance between them, and the resemblance to Marissa. Adriel's tiny hand lay sprawled next to him, just begging to be held. Unable to resist the urge, he reached for his son's hand and touched him for the first time. Baby Adriel opened his incredibly large hazel eyes, blinking sleepily while sucking quietly on his blue pacifier. Heero gawked at his child as he realized that his son was seeing him for the first time. Sudden terror gripped his heart. Duo will come back to hurt him now... he will hurt his _son_. He will hurt them just like—

With a shuddering gasp, Heero flashed back to an even earlier time, mere days after MO2. He was lying in bed, shivering and drenched in sweat under the effects of a dangerously high fever. His perspiration stained the crisp white sheets of a cheap motel bed. He was terribly ill; suffering from acute pneumonia, just like the medic on MO2 warned he would. Unable to remain outside in his condition, he had stumbled out of the woods and onto a main road, leaving Wing ZERO behind, hidden in the forest. He made his way on foot in the rain until he found salvation in a small roadside motel. After breaking in, he crawled under the covers and stayed there, like an animal seeking a secluded place to die.

His damaged lungs burnt with each cough. He fought for air, inhaling in large, hoarse gulps, struggling to breathe over the mucus and fluids filling his lungs. He lay curled into a fetal position, every muscle aching and cramped. Violent watery coughs wracked through him and stirred the blazing pain in his anus so that each breath reminded him of what had been done to him; of what _Duo_ did to him.

His defeat was a pathetic spiral; a humiliating decent from a once well-guarded pedestal. He was reduced to a quivering, whimpering, sweaty and tearful mass of human flesh; a soldier dishonored and betrayed by his own faults and delusional human desires. Alone in his disgrace, he had nearly perished on that bed. At some point, he didn't care enough to breathe anymore.

If it wasn't for the cleaning crew that entered the room after Christmas was over, he would have surely died in some desolate motel room and no one would have even known of his passing. He was brought to a local medical center, where doctors and police detectives questioned him about his condition. They could tell he's been... assaulted ("brutally", one doctor had said) and his X-rays revealed years of wounds and abuse that have gone untreated. They sent in a social worker who pestered him with endless questions, trying to figure out who he was. He was barely conscious at the time, but from what little he could gather they all thought he was a victim of an old kidnapping case. They figured that he went missing as a child and has somehow managed to escape his abusive captor, stumbling out of the woods and into that motel room. He never bothered to correct them. He didn't utter one word the whole time he was there and spent days pretending to sleep until he was strong enough to escape.

Dishes rattled softly as someone placed a food-tray on his nightstand. Heero opened his eyes, gasping sharply as he was torn abruptly away from his jump. Marissa was standing by his bedside, looking at him with a stern expression of disapproval mixed with a hint of stubbornly suppressed concern; a typical look when she was angry with him but still chose to offer her aid. She was dressed in her blue maid's uniform, her long curly tresses gathered into a usual thick ponytail.

"How are you feeling?" she asked as she bent down to fluff the pillows supporting his injured left leg. For a moment he felt as though he was still at the ward and she was merely performing her duties as his nurse. She placed a cool hand on his hot forehead, checking his temperature. Her hands brushed lightly against the bruises on the left side of face, offering a tentative caress as she pulled away, sighing.

"You're burning up," she muttered reproachfully, like he did it on purpose. She always criticized him for anything and everything when she was angry with him. Still, he appreciated her dutiful assistance. No matter how much he angered her, he knew that she will never let him down. He wasn't alone anymore; he hasn't been for a long time now. That was a frightening revelation, because the rules clearly stated that he should _always_ remain _alone_. And Duo has finally returned to implement the rules...

"I'm fine," he rasped shakily, then coughed. His throat was very dry and everything hurt. He was far from fine, but he was too proud to admit it. He may be defeated, but he could still pretend otherwise, even if he knew that she could see straight through his lie.

"Here." Marissa handed him a glass of fresh orange juice. "Drink," she commanded and he accepted the cold beverage with a single grateful nod of his head. He struggled to sit up more comfortably; a most straining exertion considering he could only use one arm and leg. Marissa clicked her tongue in disapproval but helped him up anyway, fluffing another pillow to support his back as well.

"Where is he?" she demanded sternly. Marissa never spoke Duo's name, perhaps because he had asked her not to so many times, but the contempt in her voice left no room for doubt. She watched him empty the glass slowly, waiting impatiently for his reply.

"I don't know," he finally answered, deliberately avoiding eye contact. "I haven't seen him since the hospital."

"Good," she grunted disdainfully. "You're not yourself since he got here and you know it. You were jumping just now, I can tell," she accused as though it was his fault he had jumped. He couldn't control it; he relied on medication for that – medication he had been denied of for the past few days.

Marissa sighed and looked down at her wristwatch.

"I have to leave for work," she stated wearily; "I've already walked Chowder, cleaned up a bit, did some shopping and made you lunch – be sure to eat it," she instructed and then sighed tiredly, her features softening with a bit more compassion. "You're okay here? Do you need help getting to the bathroom before I leave?"

"I'll manage," he assured her.

She nodded, trusting that he will. "Take your meds," she then ordered curtly and turned to leave the room. "Get some rest."

"Rissa," he called after her, unable to stop himself from using the nickname she now resented. Her shoulders tensed before she turned around to face him again with an impatient glare, urging him to speak already.

"I'm sorry," he apologized plainly, hoping that it would be enough for now, for he was unable to say anything more at the moment. There were too many things he was sorry for; it would take him hours to explain.

"I know you are," Marissa exhaled slowly; "You're always sorry."

"You can leave Adriel here with me," he offered carefully. "Don't send him off to your mother."

She studied his grey and battered features for a moment; her brown eyes troubled.

"I can't," she muttered, upset. " _His_ things are still here; he hasn't gone anywhere yet. Kick him out, Hiro. Then you can see your son again." She walked out of the bedroom, calling: "C'mon papí, it's time to go."

"Is Hiro up yet?"

"No, he's still sleeping. Let's go."

"Five more minutes!"

"No – _now._ "

" _Man..._ " the child moaned and the TV was switched off. Heero listened to them leave and the apartment fell silent. Chowder went to sniff the meal waiting on the night table. Heero turned around numbly and looked at it as well. He didn't feel like eating. He was back to being that small neglected child sitting alone by a bare kitchen table wondering if his mommy was ever going to come back. No... That wasn't quite it; his despair went even deeper than that. To be perfectly honest, he felt as though Marissa had just sealed him inside his own tomb.

*             *             *

Heero slept through most of the day away and then spent the late evening hours catching up on work. He lay in bed, his leg propped up on pillows, using a slim tablet-computer to go over the dozens of work-related emails that accumulated in his inbox over the past week. Chowder lay next to him, resting his furry golden snout on the pillow next to Heero's injured leg as he watched his owner work in silence, his bloodshot blue eyes skimming over the emails from behind a pair of black eyeglasses.

He reached for a coffee mug resting on the nightstand and took a sip. The hot beverage fogged the lenses of his glassed, obscuring the gleaming refection of the tablet's screen. Once it cleared, he resumed reading.

He really shouldn't be drinking as much caffeine as he did, not in his condition, but he didn't care anymore. In fact, he would rather be holding a cold beer in his hand. He had seen a couple of bottles Duo had placed in the fridge the morning before his accident, but when he went to search for them today, he found none. Marissa must have thrown them away, which was the right thing to do, he supposed, because the temptation was too great. If he could have, he would have been drinking himself to oblivion right now.

Exhausted, he took off his eyeglasses and rubbed his sore, tired eyes. Chowder turned his head up to look at him, as though worried. Heero reached to tap on the dog's head lightly, soothing him. Chowder rested his head back down and Heero sighed dejectedly.

If his days were truly numbered, then he had to think of what would be of Chowder once he was gone. He couldn't risk having his beloved pet sent to a pound or even put to sleep because no one will wish to keep him. He would have liked to ask Marissa to keep him, but such a request would only burden her; she had their son to take care of and that was hard enough.

Perhaps Jerry would be willing to take care of his pet. Jerry gave him Chowder as a gift, when the dog was a small pup. As his AA sponsor, the redheaded man hoped that tending to the small animal would aid him in his recovery. Heero wondered if he should write a last testament and in it ask Jerry to take Chowder in. He never considered writing a will before, but he should have done so long ago. He had his son's future to consider; he had responsibilities.

He never expected to have any regrets about leaving this world, but unlike before, when he was but a mere soldier, he couldn't just perish without preparing for the inevitable. There will be consequences to his death; people he cared about will be affected by his passing. What will Marissa do without his financial support? Living on her meager salary, she won't be able to give their son the life that he so rightfully deserved; the life any child deserved. Adriel should never know the kind of privation he had known as a child, and that required planning. He had to secure his son's future; he couldn't just leave things hanging as they were, not anymore... not for a very long time now.

Heero closed the email software and opened a word processor instead. He stared at the blank page, gazing numbly at the blinking cursor until his vision blurred. He didn't have any fancy last words to offer; words were never his strong suit. He closed the document and opened spreadsheet software instead. Numbers were something he could work with more easily, so he began listing of all of his financial assets and their distribution after his passing: some to a trust fund he had opened for Adriel a few years back, some to numerous savings accounts for the near future, some to be donated to the Penn Hospital Rehabilitation Ward, and so on. He arranged for the handsome royalty payments he received for various computer-related creations and patents he had worked on to be transferred directly to Marissa, replacing the child support he currently provided.

The task of tying all of the bureaucratic loose ends was long and tedious. He worked into the night, absorbed in his task, filling out on-line forms and sending out dozens of emails to banks, lawyers, insurance and pension companies and whatnot. Dying used to be so easy once... all he had to do was press a button or pull a trigger. Now there was so much _planning_ involved, it was exhausting.

A sudden silent thudding sound distracted him from his work and Heero looked up from his tablet, frowning. He stopped typing and turned to gaze at the bedroom door, listening for the sound again. He wasn't sure what he had heard exactly, or if he even heard anything in the first place, but he listened carefully for a minute, just to make sure. Heavy silence pounded in his ears and nothing more. Even the city had quieted down at such a late hour. The air was eerily still and shadows filled every corner of the room beyond the reach of his bedside illumination. The rest of the apartment was dark, save for the fluorescent tube he had left on in the kitchen. The cool-white light touched the hardwood floor in the corridor outside his bedroom, muting its usually rich wooden shade to a dreary gray.

Chowder ran quickly into the bedroom and jumped on the bed. Heero tensed, startled by the dog's sudden reappearance. It took him a moment before he relaxed and welcomed his pet with a faint smile. It was probably just Chowder he had heard, fumbling about in the laundry room. The dog was so big that sometimes he dropped things like the hamper or the recycling bin. He ruffled the dog's furry golden head and resumed his work.

The air stood still once more; the apartment absorbed in nightly silence. Heero's fingers moved swiftly over the tablet's touch-screen, skillfully executing various commands as he sifted through files and applications. Then, Chowder started barking frantically and Heero's head shot up, alarmed.

The large Golden Retriever stood up stiffly on the bed, barking at the bedroom door. Heero turned to look at it again, but saw nothing aside from the faint halo of the kitchen light. He waited for a sound, a movement, a shadow across the wall, but nothing happened.

He took off his glasses and placed them on the night table. Putting the tablet down, he pulled the blanket aside; exposing his sloppy pair of blue boxer-shorts and a white tank top undershirt that clung to his unhealthily skinny frame. His crutches rested against the wall by his bed. He reached for them and stood up cautiously. He secured the crutches under his armpits, mindful of the sling holding his broken left arm. Limping on his one good leg, he made his way towards the bedroom door.

Chowder jumped off the bed, still barking nervously. He followed his owner to the door.

Heero stopped at the doorway. Slowly, he leaned forward, peeking outside warily. Chowder remained standing close to him, growling dangerously, exposing his sharp fangs.

Prussian blue eyes narrowed cagily, studying what little they could see ahead. Heero's narrow tunnel-vision only allowed him a limited glimpse of the living room at the end of the hall. The front door was directly ahead, across the corridor. It was closed, the keys still in the lock; they weren't swinging, so it was safe to assume that no one has entered through the front door.

A car drove down the street, its bright yellow headlights streaking the living room ceiling for a brief moment. Nothing was blocking the light, which meant that no one was standing by the living room window. That left the kitchen and laundry room.

Heero made his way down the short corridor and stopped at the threshold leading into the rest of the apartment. Chowder was right behind him, snarling in a low, menacing growl.

His grip around the right crutch tightened, his fist clenching tensely around the staff. Inhaling deeply, he took a step towards the kitchen, ready to swing the crutch upwards in self-defense.

"Duo?" he called carefully; his quiet voice sounded awfully loud as it broke the heavy silence. "I know you're here."

He made it to the kitchen undisturbed. Standing at the passageway between the kitchen-bar and the wall, he stopped to look around. The cool fluorescent light shone harshly over his bruised features as he turned his head from side to side, trying to see as much of his surroundings as he possibly could.

"You left the hospital," he continued even though he had received no confirmation that Duo was actually there. The ex-02 pilot was an expert of stealth. He was there; Heero knew it.

"I tried looking for you."

Silence was his only answer; a thick, suffocating stillness.

"Duo?" Heero tried again and took another step into the kitchen, towards the open utility room. It was the only possible point of entry left. That was why Chowder came running panicked to his bedroom.

"Are you in there?"

He reached the door, gripping his right crutch so tightly that his bony knuckles turned white. His right arm, his only functional arm, was trembling from the strain of keeping his weak muscles taut for so long. Supported only by the left staff, he tossed the right crutch slightly up into the air, catching it by the midsection, ready to swing it at an assailant.

"Duo?" he tried one last time before he made a move into the laundry room.

Chowder barked and charged forward without warning, streaking past Heero as he leaped into the small utility room. Heero lost his balance and, after wobbling on one leg in a useless attempt to remain standing, his right knee gave way and he dropped straight down to a sitting position, his bottom crashing down hard.

The crutches fell in a loud clatter of metal and plastic against the hardwood floor. Heero's head jerked up instantly. He saw Chowder inside the laundry room, trying to jump at the open window.

A hand suddenly gripped the ledge, reaching up from the outside. Another hand joined it; holding a jagged army knife.

Chowder hopped up and down, barking madly.

In one swift motion, Duo pushed up and jumped in through the window, landing as gracefully as a cat.

Heero didn't even have time to blink as Duo's muscled tattooed arm lurched down and gripped the large dog by its collar, sweeping Chowder off the floor. In one smooth motion – Duo slit Chowder's throat.

Blood spewed everywhere, splashing across Duo's face, smearing his cheeks and nose. He let go of the dog and the slaughtered animal fell to the floor with a loud, meaty, thud. Blood pooled around it rapidly.

Heero could not breathe. His heart hammered wildly in his chest; one could almost see it beating through the white undershirt covering his chest. He gawked wide-eyed at Chowder's corpse. All he could think of was that fateful split of a second during which his mother perished, consumed by flames.

BOOM! Just like that. She was sucked into the dark vacuum of space and he watched her corpse float away, watching him with wide dead eyes. Something raw and bleeding was torn away from him just then; his mother had taken it away with her into the black vastness.

BANG! Suddenly a shot was fired and took Odin away from him too. He didn't know if to feel relieved or miserable by his passing. He didn't cry, but more of that aching _something_ was stripped away from him, leaving a large, hollow, chasm in his chest.

SLASH! Replay: a jagged knife slit Chowder's throat without mercy and killed him too. The grief gripping his heart was intense; it twisted his gut, crumbling everything inside until his mind numbed and everything fell into a deafening silence pounding in his ears.

He could not tear his gaze away from Chowder's dead body. Duo moved. He dashed at him like a snake out of the bushes. Heero's eyes darted upwards. Blood stained Duo's flashy red T-shirt; crimson droplets had spurted all over the image of the crazy green cartoon dog laughing madly as it too was slaughtered by a jagged army knife. Heero stared at the prophetic image, mortified. In his lunacy, Duo probably considered him as nothing more than another miserable dog to be slaughtered.

Slowly, his gaze traveled up to meet Duo's eyes. Madness stared back at him; dark and forbidding.

"Someone's been a _bad dog_..." he smirked manically; blood smeared across his face and his eyes gleaming ominously; "One down – two more to go," he announced darkly and took a step forward, lifting his bloody knife.

Heero's right arm shot up to grip the doorframe, trying to use it for support and leverage so he could stand up again. But he was too clumsy, too slow. Duo launched his attack and as the world faded to black, Heero contemplated dimly that at least now his beloved pet won't become a burden on anyone...

*             *             *

**To be continued in Chapter 15: Remembrance:**

oOo

The knife was still wedged in the floorboard. Duo thrashed, flinging his arms towards it clumsily.

oOo

They wrestled for the knife, rolling and thrashing across the small bedroom floor.

oOo

Hiro lay beneath him and waited for the strike of the blade. He kept his gaze locked with Duo's. His features were calm, his eyes forgiving. In a few moments, it will all be over.

oOo

 

[1] Reference to episodes 24-26 in the anime series.

[2] Reference to episode 32 of the anime series.

[3] According to the Frozen Teardrop novel (chapter 4), Heero's mother was an OZ spy who was raising her child even while she knew she couldn't possibly keep working and be there for him. She loved him and that was why she kept postponing the decision of either giving him up or stop working for OZ. Meanwhile, her child lived under the impression that he was ignored, unimportant and alone in the world. So clearly, the "Perfect Soldier" has some serious "Mommy Issues".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:** Sorry for the cliffhanger... I hate to leave you hanging but I'm going abroad on a family vacation (God help me...) so I won't be able to post until after Easter.  
>  Happy Easter/Passover to those who celebrate!  
> Elle


	17. Chapter 15: Remembrance

**One Week 17/21**

**Chapter 15: Remembrance**

Rain pounded hard against a window. He could not see, but he could hear the downpour hammering mercilessly against the glass. It was dark, but he gradually realized that it was because his eyes were closed. He could see the impression of a dim orange halo behind his closed eyelids. He was somewhere warm, safe. He was lying on a comfortable surface. He felt at ease and didn't wish to open his eyes only to discover that it was nothing but a fragile illusion.

Something other than the rain was pounding rhythmically; the sound was dull, as though coming from another room. As the rhythm picked up, someone started laughing and Heero's eyes snapped open. It was Duo.

"Holy fuck! Listen to 'em go!" Duo's mirthful words came out in a rolling laughter. "They're gonna tear the fucking wall down!"

Heero found himself staring up at the ceiling of an unfamiliar room. He was lying on a bed, looking up. It wasn't his bedroom, because there was no ceiling fan above him. The illumination was eerie: too orange and blazingly bright, like someone had tampered with the hue, lightness and saturation aspects of his eyesight. Then it suddenly occurred to him that he could actually _see_ beyond the narrow tunnel-vision he had grown accustomed to over the years. His vision seemed to have been restored, however abnormally. What was going on?

"Oh man, those two are really going at it, huh?"

Heero turned his head aside to the direction of Duo's voice. There was another bed at the other side of the room, where Duo was sitting, leaning against the wall on which the bed in the other room was pounding. Heero gaped at him, shocked. He was looking at a teenage Duo: a young and deceptively careless boy with a devil-may-care smile and a long braid snaking down the length of his back. It wasn't the same Duo who just attacked him in the laundry room.

Heero shot up to a sitting position, startled. He looked around, trying to make sense of everything. He was in some kind of dormitory room: two beds stood at each side of the room, separated by two dressers under a window. Everything inside the room was illuminated in a strong and unnatural orange tinge, but outside the window everything was a deep, dark blue; too blue to be realistic. He whirled his head around to look at Teenage-Duo again; his eyes wide.

"Hey man, take it easy!" Duo laughed; "It ain't nothing to worry about – just two kids having sex!" he snickered; "and since this is an all boys' school it means that... Oh well, to each his own, I guess," he concluded with a carefree shrug of his shoulders.

Heero realized that he was holding a pistol clenched in his fist; that explained why Duo told him to relax. He looked down at the weapon, confused.

He recalled this night, way back in mid-AC 195. Duo and he were laying low between missions, playing the role of regular students attending a European boarding school while they waited for their next assignment. If he had to pinpoint the exact time and place when he had first realized that he was forming his first friendship ever, this would be it. He remembered how a storm had raged all through the night and Duo joked about the couple having intercourse in the other room, while he on his part entertained the thought of silencing their damn racket with his gun. For some reason, Duo found his threat very amusing and said that he was pleased to know that the _Perfect Soldier_ had a sense of humor. The acknowledgement that he possessed such an ordinary human trait such as humor was very... comforting, somehow. Only Duo was capable of seeing these things in him; only he bothered looking behind the soldier and dismiss his threats as silly.

He must be jumping, Heero concluded. But if this was a jump, then why weren't they having that same conversation word for word? Jumping took him back, made him relive past moments just like they had played out before. The jumps were always realistic; they absorbed him into the memory completely, erasing any trace of present and future. This time, however, he was fully aware of past, present and a possibly devastating future. This wasn't a regular jump...

He turned to Duo, scowling. "What is this?" he asked, puzzled. His voice sounded strange even to his own ears; it was nothing like The Soldier's steady tone. He wasn't playing the role of Gundam pilot 01 in this strange reenactment, was he?

"What are we doing here?" he demanded as firmly as he could manage. The memory of Chowder's slain corpse was fresh, painful. His heart was heavy with grief. He found it hard to look into Duo's eyes, but he forced himself to meet his clueless gaze nonetheless. After all, it seemed that he was in the company of _Wartime Duo_ , rather than the madman who had just attacked him. He gripped the pistol in his hand tightly, just in case Duo will turn out to be a threat.

Teenage-Duo studied him with a funny frown. "Is that like a philosophical question about the nature of our very existence, or more like an _'I got hit on the head and can't remember shit'_ sorta question?"

Heero gaped at him mutely for a moment, speechless. Duo's easy-going manner was just as he recalled from wartime. His tone was lighter compared to the person he knew in the present, less troubled. His eyes still gleamed with a hint of a blithe smile and his youthful features held none of the hard, bitter umbrage that shaped his harsh features as an adult.

"The latter, I suppose..." he mumbled a reply numbly, too confused to stop himself from answering candidly. He wasn't reciting a predetermined dialogue like in a regular jump; it seemed that he was in control of this strange illusion, yet at the same time, he wasn't.

Now Duo seemed concerned. "Oh man, really? You hit your head? When?"

"About ten years ago," he replied automatically; unable to say anything else even if he tried. His words were somehow chosen for him, dictated by a part of him that usually chose to keep quiet; hidden and therefore safe. He felt terribly exposed.

"Shit man, musta been a hard blow, cuz you're talking all _crazy_ ," the braided teenager muttered teasingly, not taking his answer too seriously. "Maybe we should take you to the nurse, make sure you're not concussed or anything."

Heero ignored his senseless suggestion and sprung out of bed. As expected, his limbs weren't broken, allowing him to move swiftly as he marched towards the adjoined bathroom. The pistol was still in his hand. He stopped in front of the mirror— and froze, stunned.

Duo hurried after him. "Hey man, you sure you're okay?"

Heero gawked silently at his reflection. If this was a jump, then he should be looking at an image of his teenage self. Yet the person looking back at him from the mirror was his _present_ self: pale with fear, gaunt with illness and his eyes hollow with grief. The left side of his face was badly bruised; traces of his accident two days ago. He was looking at a beaten young man instead of a powerful teenage soldier!

Whirling back around, he turned to look at Duo with wide, stunned, eyes.

"What's going on? Why am I still older?"

"Okay – that is the _weirdest_ question anyone has _ever_ asked me!" Duo declared sneeringly, shaking his head in mock-disappointment. "Jesus, man! You of all people shoulda figured this shit out by now!"

"Figured _what_ out?" Heero demanded petulantly. "Tell me what's going on."

"You're dreaming," Duo explained simply, shrugging dismissively.

Heero scowled, irritated by the teenager's laidback fashion.

"I don't recall falling asleep," he argued coldly.

"Oh, you went out like a light, trust me. I wouldn't be here otherwise," Duo chuckled smugly. "You're dreaming and I'm tagging along for the ride."

"This isn't a dream," he insisted; "You're... you're not a _dream_."

"Oh no, I didn't say I was. I said I was just _tagging along for the ride_. Trust me, it's much better over here then it is in _that_ room," he gestured in the direction from which the pounding could still be heard. Heero glanced up as well, and was startled to see that the room outside the bathroom door was no longer the strange orange dorm room. He was looking out the bathroom door and straight into _Eddy's Room_ : dark and ominous, filled with a cold, pale blue halo illuminating the metallic floor. He didn't dare to look up at the rest of the room and turned his head back around to face Duo; his features blanched with dread.

"See what I mean?" Duo mumbled, shrugging helplessly. "I vote that we stay here for a while."

He could hear voices coming from the other room: torturing, demented whispers... helpless, pathetic moaning... He closed his eyes, trying to block them out, but they were coming from his own mind; forever a part of him.

"You're a part of me too," he realized and reopened his eyes, looking up at the teenage boy he used to know. Duo was grinning at him in an all-knowing manner.

"Very good, soldier-boy, you're starting to catch my drift. I'm a part of you, but I'm still me. You can call me a... well, a residue, if you will. A leftover brain-wave signature from when that freaky Ozzie scientist forced me to—"

"—pilot ZERO," Heero concluded as the pieces of the puzzle finally fell into place. He was talking to traces of the _real_ Duo, the part of him that was stored in ZERO's vast memory banks. He was speaking to a version of Duo from before... before...

"Yeah, from before _that_ happened," Duo confirmed, gesturing at the other room again. "I ain't got nuthin' to do with that shitty mess, but I am sorry for—"

"Don't," Heero stopped him before he would have to actually hear Duo confess his crime. He didn't want to hear a word of it. He bowed his head down shamefully. "You know about that?" he asked shakily, his tone quiet and abashed.

"Yeah, sure, cuz _you_ know about it," Duo shrugged carelessly; "I know what you know. We've been sorta sharing your brain for... well, a long time now."

Heero looked up again, frowning in confusion. "So you're... you're not the same person who... attacked... me?"

"Hell no!" Duo shook his head fiercely and his long braid danced around him like a cat's tail. "I'm just a shadow hanging around your head, like a whole lotta other shadows roaming around here. ZERO left quite a mess just before it crashed; a whole bunch of crap that wasn't supposed to stay in your head if the System woulda been able to shut down properly. You're carrying some fucked up shit in here, yanno that? There's data here regarding just about _everything_ that went on around the palace when you crashed. That's too much for one person to handle for so long, yanno? That's why your brain goes haywire every now and then. Shit tries to take over."

"You mean the jumps?"

"Yeah, see, it's a coping mechanism. If something tries to take control over you, I make sure you flash back instead of succumbing to all this alien crap flooding your fucked-up brain, no offense."

"You... _you_ make me jump?"

"Yeah, probably... kinda. And since I— _he_ – whatever he is –showed up, this jumping thing has been happening a lot. I dunno why. I guess it has something to do with this brainwave bullshit thing. Maybe the presence of the _real_ me is affecting you somehow... maybe the similar gamma waves are being scrambled or something, yanno like... it's like the two of us being here is messin' with your head or whatever. I dunno. I'm no brainiac. You'll haffta ask Quatre about this shit, he's the _ZERO expert_."

"But why do you make me jump back to the past?"

"I don't really _control_ it. I just... I dunno. I block whatever's trying to mess with you and then you just _jump_ , like you can't stay when and where you are, so you divert to another track... another time."

Heero frowned thoughtfully. It was uncanny, but somehow it just made sense. Which meant...

"So you... you've been looking after me... all this time?"

"Uhm, you can say that, I guess..." Duo mumbled sheepishly and glanced away, embarrassed. "I'm not really aware of anything. I'm... I'm not really _me_ , yanno? I'm like a... a reflex, maybe? Yanno, something subconscious that can act when you're in trouble? I just... I do what I can. You watch my back and I watch yours, right?" he finished with a small, humble, smile. "I mean, what are friends fo—"

"—No! Don't call us that!" Heero shouted and quickly pointed the gun up at Duo. Panting harshly through his nose, he took a step back, bumping into the bathroom cabinet. His hand shook, but he struggled to keep a steady aim.

"Oh man, no..." Duo moaned sorrowfully, shaking his head. He took a careful step towards Heero and gently rested his hands on the young man's trembling arm. He lowered Heero's arm down slowly, gazing at the young man with compassionate cobalt blue eyes.

"Heero, it's okay," he soothed quietly, holding onto Heero's hand gently, keeping the pistol pointing at the floor. "That shit doesn't affect me. I'm basically a part of you... totally sane, if we can call you that." He chuckled, smiling kindly at the distraught young man; "I won't snap at anything you say. Doctor J tampered with my _physical_ mind. I'm just some _unexplained brainwave signature_ roaming in the back of your head, get it?"

Heero could not move away from the strange apparition standing before him. He allowed Duo to continue holding onto his hand, keeping it down, pacified. He gazed down at the teenage boy; naturally, Duo was shorter than him since he was about twelve years younger. It was strange looking down into his eyes, because at present he was forced to look slightly upwards if he wanted to level his gaze with Duo, who was about an inch or two taller than him.

For a long moment, he simply gazed into the teenager boy's compassionate cobalt blue eyes. Duo was asking for his trust and he was desperate to offer it freely just like before; desperate, but not stupid. He was too afraid to give Duo his trust again so easily.

"You... you... you ra—you..." he sighed, bowing his head down sadly; "You killed my dog," he finally mumbled, unable to speak the accusation he truly wished to make. He could never confess the act of sodomy forced upon him, nor will he try... not even in the relatively safe confines of his own mind.

"I'm— _he's_ about to do a lot worse if you don't stop him," Duo warned solemnly. "That's why I had to show myself," he explained and let go of Heero's hand. He took a step back and Heero did the same, sagging tiredly against the bathroom vanity behind him. He bowed his head down as he thought matters over carefully.

"If a part of you has been with me for all this time," he reasoned, looking warily at Duo; "how come we're only speaking now?"

"Uhm, dunno," Duo shrugged in a clueless gesture. "I guess something's changed. Nuthin's holding me back no more."

"I've been off my medication for a few days," Heero suggested; "I've been on it since the head injury..."

"See, told'ja," Duo smiled; his eyes gleaming softly. "Two brainwave signatures are better than one, right?" he joked; "Twice the thinking power. Now let's tackle a _real_ problem, like solving world hunger... or how come the human race is _so_ cocky that we declare some broad as _Miss Universe_ without making sure there's no one hotter out there, know what I'm sayin'?"

Heero gaped at him, flabbergasted by the adolescent's most inappropriate timing for humor. Then again, Duo has always exceled at making a joke to break the ice.

He sighed, his shoulders slumping down tiredly. Leaning against the vanity, he stared numbly at the pistol in his hand as he dwelled on his strange predicament. As crazy as it may seem, somehow he knew that he wasn't experiencing a regular dream, or a jump. Duo was not a part of his subconscious; and yet, he was an extension of it. He could not tell what Duo was feeling or thinking, but he was aware of him as one was aware of the motives and background of a figure the mind had conjured up in a dream. He felt as though he suddenly knew almost everything there was to know about Duo; truths and secrets about his past were suddenly revealed and became accessible to him as if they were his own. They were things he was certain the 02 pilot had never shared with him, even during their intimate Truth or Dare games. He was aware of things he couldn't possibly have known unless... unless the ZERO System fed him the information.

Yes, it made perfect sense now. ZERO was the reason why he knew about Duo's complex relationship with his God, or about the time he used to work in a scrapyard on L2 during the war, about the drugs he had abused while living as a homeless child in the L2 slums and so much more. He knew a lot about Duo; he has known these things for years without even realizing it, and vice-versa. Duo knew many things about him too; information he had also learned on a subconscious level while under ZERO's influence. Now he understood why Duo was so certain in his assumption that he was raised on L1, that spicy foods gave him heartburn or how he liked spaghetti and meatballs because they reminded him of being a kid, of the one small thing his mother did bother doing for him – like leaving a _yucky_ frozen-meal in the kitchen so he'll have something to eat while she was away. Duo even used the same terminology he had used as a child – he called it _yucky_.

Teenage-Duo offered him a wretched half-smile. "Hey, at least you had a mother for a while... That's more than I ever had."

"I know," he mumbled sorrowfully; and he did know. He knew _everything_ ; such as how Duo's long braid was a remembrance to his lost loved ones. He felt as though he was carrying both Duo's and his own personal sorrow in his heart and the burden was a heavy one to bear.

"Maybe we should call _you_ 'Duo'then," the braided teenager joked and Heero knew that he was making a reference to the tragic death of his friend and gang-leader back on L2 – Solo. He now realized why he always assumed that Duo picked up the accent because he who used to speak with what Duo called a _"hillbilly"_ accent; that was why Duo spoke with a trace of Southern American accent, to mimic him, because Duo felt obliged to live for two people – for both Solo and himself. That was why he made an effort to cherish life no matter what; that was why he had named himself _Duo_ , as a reminder that he must live for more than just his own sake, but for Solo's sake too _._

And that was why Duo's joke wasn't funny at all. Quite the contrary, it broke his heart because now Heero realized why Duo was always so eager to teach him about choosing life over death. Living was a tribute to those who could no longer walk with them. That was what Solo's death taught Duo when he was but a small child. It was yet another loss Heero now mourned for; a loss that wasn't his, yet it was. Duo and he were connected; beyond friendship and beyond reason.

A sound came from the other room, disturbing his epiphany. Heero didn't want to, but he turned to glance out the bathroom door anyway. He was no longer gazing out into Eddy's Room, but rather at his own bedroom. He recognized his bed, the dresser, the spinning ceiling fan and the closed blinds obscuring the window. And he could see himself lying sprawled lifelessly on the bed in his boxers and tank-top undershirt, his broken left arm and leg resting in an awkward angle, as if he had been tossed onto the bed carelessly. He could feel the dull ache in his limbs. He felt the bed beneath him, the cool wrinkled sheets. His tablet computer was directly under his right hand; he could feel the smooth surface of the screen. He was becoming gradually aware of his body; he was waking up.

"I don't want to go back out there," he turned to Teenage-Duo with a desperate plea in his eyes.

"You have to, Heero," Duo insisted solemnly; "You _have_ to wake up."

He shook his head dreadfully; there wasn't much point to keep up the pretense of being strong if he was in his own head. Duo probably knew exactly how frightened he felt. They were both aware of the grim predicament he was facing. In his madness, Duo thought of him as just another loathsome _dog_ to be slaughtered. Duo must have gotten the subconscious impression from _him_ , because during wartime he had perceived himself as nothing but an obedient bloodhound. It was a weakness that was often exploited during his training, drilled even deeper into him. He was a dog of war; he lived to obey, to kill. ZERO must have implanted the subliminal suggestion in Duo's mind as a tactical advantage.

Duo hated dogs, so when mixed with the kill-switch Dr. J arranged to be planted in Duo's mind, it was no wonder that he had fixated on him in his psychosis. Duo was out to kill him, just like he had butchered his pet. They were one of the same in Duo's eyes.

"You can't let me do those things to you again," Teenage-Duo implored him; "you _have_ to fight."

He bowed his head down, humiliated by his own doubts. His whole posture deflated in defeat. He stared numbly at the gun he was holding limply in his hand.

"I can't."

"Sure you can! You gotta!"

"No..." Heero shook his bowed head, "You said I can't..." he mumbled mournfully; "Not ever."

"Who did I say that to? When?"

"To me... on... on MO2, when you—"

"No, no, _no!_ " Duo countered heatedly, shaking his head fiercely. "I said that to Gundam pilot _Heero Yuy_! Are you that person?"

The question had him stumped. He looked up and stared at Duo dumbly. He honestly didn't know the answer.

"Well, are you?" Duo demanded impatiently; "Are you Gundam pilot Zero One, code-named _Heero Yuy?_ "

"No," he said firmly, his eyes hard with defiance. "Not anymore."

Duo nodded his head in approval, appeased. "So who are you then?"

"I'm..." again words failed him; he was stupefied by the simple question.

"Are you some _pup_ roaming the streets, looking to find himself?" Duo taunted, smirking cunningly. "Are you – _sobaka?"_

_"NO!"_ he cried out and shook his head fiercely, frustrated and offended by the debasing term. Inhaling deeply, he released a long weary sigh and bowed his head again, subjugated. "No," he repeated dolefully, staring at the gun he was still holding limply in his hand.

"Then who am I talking to?"

"Me," he mumbled despairingly, desperate to find the right words, to finally define himself. Unshed tears blurred his vision. Distressed, he looked at Duo through tearful eyes, trying to reconcile between opposite feelings: shame for no longer being The Soldier and relief for overcoming that binding persona. He was both abashed and gratified for becoming something... _more_ ; someone else, someone... better?

"You're talking to me..." he whispered, his expression anguished; "...to Hiro."

"Yuy?" Duo quirked a wary eyebrow.

"No," he corrected, shaking his head. "I'm Hiro with... Hiro with an 'I'," he said, "There's a big difference."

In all likelihood, Duo has been with him for so long that he already knew how alienated he felt from the alias _Heero Yuy._ Even though the name sounded the same, the difference was still great; it was the different between a compulsory hero, and himself.

Duo smiled softly. "And did I ever order _Hiro-With-an-I_ not to fight against me?"

He knew what Duo was getting, but it didn't make it any less distressing.

"...no," he mumbled, bowing his head down. He stared numbly at the pistol in his hand. "You didn't."

"Heero Yuy was wiped out when ZERO crashed," Duo reminded him; "I know, because I was there, being _sucked_ into this shitty-mess you call a _brain_." He took a step forward, closing the distance between them. He slipped the pistol out of Heero's loose hold.

"Now," he said, "This is how it's gonna play out:" He lifted the gun up, pointing it directly at Hiro. "This is Truth or Dare, _Hiro-With-an-I_ : I'm daring you to fight me. Kill me if you have to, I don't care. Don't let me hurt anyone ever again. Not you, not your son... not _anyone_ – got it?" Duo shoved the gun back into his hand, looking him sternly in the eye. "You do whatever you have to do, is that clear?"

Closing his fist around the gun's handle, Hiro nodded, accepting his final mission. He looked up at the apparition of a younger Duo, his expression pained.

"I don't want to kill you," he whispered.

"I know," Duo whispered back; "But you might have to."

*             *             *

Awareness returned to him slowly; reality gradually seeping into the black void left behind by his strange vision. The first thing he became aware of was the pain. He was lying on a soft surface, most likely his bed, and his every limb ached dully. His ears were ringing and head pulsated painfully. Duo must have hit him over the head, knocking him out. He could feel a lump of clotted blood and hair in the back of his head, resting against a pillow. He could also feel the cool touch of his tablet's screen under the tips of his right fingers, but every other part of him tingled unpleasantly with pins and needles. His body felt too heavy to move; the mere thought of it sent his mind reeling with dizziness and nausea. His head was swimming; he must be concussed.

The mattress creaked quietly. Someone shifted next to him, tipping the padding down as he moved closer. He felt that someone climb on top of him, straddling his hips. Distraught, he fought off the need to tense and give away his awareness. He kept his eyes closed and concentrated on each breath, keeping a low, steady rhythm in an attempt to conceal his awakening.

Callous hands tugged at his tank-top undershirt. His abdominal muscles fluttered by reflex and his breath hitched in his throat. He felt the tip of something cold and metallic touch the bare skin under his navel; it was a blade. The sound of ripping fabric split the air as the knife tore his undershirt in two. The garment now hung off him like an open vest, exposing his torso. He felt a cool gush of wind against his nude chest and fought to keep still. There was no other warning before the blade moved again and sliced him slantwise across the chest, cutting swiftly and fiercely in one smooth motion that brought on an enormous, blazing, jolt of pain. Duo had just reopened the chest-wound he had inflicted on him on MO2.

Horror-struck, Hiro's eyes snapped wide open and he jerked up, gasping loudly. A hand pushed him back down forcefully and he collapsed onto the bed. His eyes were now wide open, but his vision was clouded with pain. He blinked a few times to focus his tear-blurry vision and found himself staring numbly at the ceiling above him.

His bedroom was dark. Pale gray light filtered through the closed shutters, streaking the walls with dim stripes of nighttime urban illumination. Colors seemed muted in the grayness of the night; shadows huddled in dark corners. The ceiling fan whooshed silently as it spun, circulating the air inside the shadowy room. It rotated slowly; its blades slicing through the air with a quiet hum. His gaze was glued to the monotonous movement for a long while before he realized that he was in shock. He blinked and the haze came into focus. Alertness crashed upon him like a violent waves upon the sand. He could feel blood oozing from the stinging cut in his chest. He could feel Duo's weight pinning him down the bed, a leg on each side of his hips. And then he heard Duo chuckle darkly, clearly amused by his display of hurt and confusion.

"Welcome back," he whispered; his tone was quiet and chillingly heartless. There was no trace of his playful Southern accent; only black bitterness remained in his once melodious tone. "I was wondering when you'll finally join me. For a moment there I thought I put you in a coma or sumthin'."

He wanted to lift his head off the pillow to look up at the man towering over him, but couldn't. His head felt too heavy, he was too dizzy. He settled on shifting his eyes as far as he could so he could see Duo's face. He studied the man quietly. Duo seemed nothing like the apparition he had just encountered in his delusion. The difference was so great that for a brief moment he couldn't even recognize Duo at all. His medium-choppy hair outlined his blood-streaked face in a chaotic frame; he looked like a deranged psychopath. It wasn't really Duo sneering down at him with malice intent gleaming in his eyes. He was back in the company of the madman born on MO2.

"I gave you this scar..." Duo murmured in morbid fascination, gawking eerily at the thin trail of blood dripping down Hiro's nude chest. There was a creepily mystified expression on his face as he shifted his gaze up to meet Hiro's eyes. He tilted his head aside, his eyes full of marvel, as curious as a child. "When was that?" he wondered innocently and Hiro's heart wavered with dread. He refused to answer. If even in his recurring madness Duo could not recall MO2, he wasn't about to remind him and aggravate the psychosis further.

Duo moved again, the motion too quick to follow. Hiro's mind suddenly shrieked under the assault of vicious pain. Duo's blade was on his chest again, digging into the freshly opened and bleeding hairline cut running diagonally across his chest. He struggled to ride the pain out by taking deep breaths through his nose, refusing to give the man the satisfaction of watching him squirm. Duo dragged the sharp knife along the bleeding scar, retracing the old wound, drawing more blood in the blade's wake. Hiro whirled his head aside, grimacing painfully and biting down hard on his lower lip, refusing to keep looking at Duo as he struggled against the pain. He felt sick, ready to vomit. The bile climbed up his throat and he swallowed it back, panting harshly. Duo was clearly signaling his intent to repeat what he had done on MO2.

"It was your fault..." He heard Duo mumble absentmindedly, spellbound as he traced the knife back and forth across the bleeding wound. "You didn't leave me much of a choice..." he recalled vaguely, speaking slowly, cautiously; as though uncertain of his recollections. He frowned and turned his gaze down at Hiro. "You screamed," he remembered, puzzled. "I never heard you scream, but you keep screaming in my head... all the time. Did I make you cry, Heero?" he wondered, fascinated. His stoic face cracked with a sick smile. He pinned Hiro's gaze with his own, leering down at him.

"I think I enjoyed it," he snarled, suddenly rejoiced, and raised the bloody knife up to eye level. He gazed at it through long, jerky bangs. He tilted the knife slightly, allowing what little light pouring through the window to catch on the bloody blade. Hiro then noted that Duo's hands were bloody as well. He stared at them numbly, unable to tear his gaze away. Why were Duo's hands bloody?

Duo noticed his staring and offered him a slow, impious, smile. He turned his head to look down at Hiro and smirked derisively.

"I have a surprise for you," he declared smugly, a hint of vile amusement in his voice. A dreadful chill crept down Hiro's spine. Duo's tone held a frightening promise of a terrible heartache. He wished he could simply disappear; he wished somehow the universe would suddenly become gracious enough to spare him of what was to come. However, just like on MO2, he was completely at Duo's mercy; or lack, thereof.

"I finally get it," he said, speaking in a low debasing tone; "I get why you like her so much..." he explained and Hiro's eyes widened frightfully. His heart pounded with dread as he watched Duo carefully. The madman was sneering down at him mockingly.

"A feisty thing, ain't she?" he snickered scornfully; "I knew she'd make a good fuck..."

An unbearable pressure was building up in Hiro's chest; a pain that pulsed deeper than the bleeding cut across his torso. He was unable to make a sound or move as he listened to his terrible words:

"She was praying while I fucked her," Duo informed him haughtily and Hiro's breathing shortened. He was panting harshly. It hurt to breathe. Everything inside him felt intolerably heavy; an aching fullness that crushed the center of his chest. The pain spread rapidly, extending downwards to his abdomen and making him sick to his stomach.

Duo chuckled darkly. "Like _praying_ ever helped anyone..."

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!" The words burst from Hiro's throat in a desperate cry. His voice was hoarse, furious and wild. His very soul was screaming at Duo once again.

Duo chucked carelessly; a dark, psychotic smirk twisting his usually handsome face. "I _fucked_ her good and then put her out of her misery," he said simply, shrugging. "Don't worry, I took your damn kid out first," he stated proudly, as if expecting to be commended for his thoughtfulness. "Spared him her pathetic screaming. It was quick and painless for him, just like your _sobaka_."

A terrible scream tore from his lips. Hiro's fist clenched around the tablet computer hidden between wrinkled sheets. He gripped it tightly and with a hopeless feral cry, he flung it at Duo's head forcefully. He slammed the tablet's corner straight into Duo's forehead, hitting his left temple.

Duo recoiled with a loud groan, raising his hands up by reflex. He swayed slightly, but kept his balance by locking his thighs tightly around Hiro's hips like a pair of nippers. He steadied himself and looked back down at Hiro. Blood was sheeting down his face. He laughed frantically, sickly enjoying himself. Hiro jerked his hips up forcefully, trying to push Duo off of him. He lurched up using his one good arm and leg and tackled Duo off the bed. They fell down hard, striking the floor in a messy tumble. The knife fell next to them with a soft clatter. Duo stopped laughing when his face crashed into the hardwood boards.

Hiro landed on top of Duo and immediately flailed to his knees, breathless. He was still clutching the tablet. He remained straddling Duo's waist, keeping him pinned face-down on the floor while he struggled to catch his breath. He felt as though his chest was about to implode, crushing into itself. It contracted painfully, as hard as stone; was he having a heart attack? It didn't matter; he _had_ to keep moving.

Groaning beneath him, Duo outstretched his hand forward, flexing it as he strained to reach for his fallen army knife. Hiro pushed down as hard as he could to stop him from creeping forward, but then Duo gave such a tremendous jerk, pushing his hips up suddenly. Hiro was thrown off to the floor and Duo lurched forward to grab the knife.

"Fucking bastard!" he roared as he flung around, raising the knife up, preparing to swing it, but Hiro writhed out of its way and quickly turned over, avoiding the strike of the blade. Duo ended up slamming the knife straight into the hardwood floor.

"Dammit!" he screamed and strained to pull it out. So busy trying to wriggle it out of the floorboard, he failed to see Hiro grab the tablet again, raising it up high. He slammed it down repeatedly into Duo's head – again, and again and again... He was fairly certain that he was screaming; his throat felt raw and sore. He could feel tears stinging his eyes. His heart was pounding frantically. The pressure in his chest was crushing him from the inside, spreading up and down in excruciating surges of grief. He was acting on pure survival instinct, unable to think, unable to stop.

The knife was still wedged in the floorboard. Duo thrashed, flinging his arms towards it clumsily. Hiro slammed the tablet even harder on the back of Duo's head. The device broke, cracking in two. Duo's outstretched hand extended almost impossibly towards the knife, but then it suddenly slumped lifelessly to the floor. He had been hit over the head a few times too many. His eyes rolled back into his head and he lost consciousness, sagging into a graceless heap. His head lolled limply to the side. Blood oozed from a deep gash in the back of his head, drenching his hair in dark crimson.

Hiro let go of the tablet. It fell on the hardwood floor with a hollow clang, splitting in two. Panting, he reached for the knife and yanked it out of the floorboard, away from Duo. The blade had been wriggled enough so that pulling it out was easy.

Wheezing harshly, he staggered away shakily, crawling backwards on the floor until he bumped into the bed. He huddled in the corner between the nightstand and the bed and remained there in a stupor, clutching the knife to his left shoulder. He panted heavily, straining against the pain. The left side of his chest pulsed agonizingly. He breathed through short, raspy gasps, watching Duo's still form through squinted eyes.

Minutes passed slowly as though hours went by. Hiro remained unmoving, the knife clenched in his fist. The pressure in his chest gradually eased to a bearable level, but he could still feel his own rapid and irregular heartbeat. A terrible sense of dizziness, fatigue and weakness suggested that not enough blood was reaching his body and brain; textbook heart failure symptoms. Won't it be terribly ironic if he'll to die of heartbreak rather than the tumors burrowing into his brain? He always assumed that another stroke would kill him; heart failure was never even considered, although his heart has suffered much abuse over the years, both physical and emotional. His drinking problem certainly didn't helped keep his battered heart any healthier. All in all, heart failure should make perfect sense. Besides, what need did he have for a beating heart if Duo has butchered everyone he cared about?

His eyes glazed over hollowly, flooding with tears. Something inside him turned a few degrees colder, deadening everything with an icy layer of grief. The chilling grip around his heart eased the pain somehow, numbing it. His heartbeat was slowing down, threatening to halt altogether.

Marissa and Adriel...

Tears streaked his pale cheeks, sliding slowly down his face. His features were completely stoic; a vacant and eerily entranced expression on his bruised face. He rose shakily to his feet. Using the nightstand for support, he steadied himself on his one good leg. He stood for a moment, swaying slightly. His torn undershirt hung sloppily from his slim shoulders like an open vest, swinging lazily as he waddled from side to side. His motions were dawdling and heavy as he turned to leave the bedroom, holding the knife in his right hand. He moved like an automaton; his features stony and his eyes empty of sentience. Nothing physical hurt anymore; he wasn't even aware that his left leg was sending out agonizing surges of pain with each step he took, walking away on a broken leg. His shattered femur bone protested with searing pain, but he marched on, making his way to the front door like a mindless zombie.

He was halfway across the hall when Duo opened his eyes.

*             *             *

Hiro stopped in front of Marissa's apartment door. It was closed. His eyes traveled down listlessly to stare numbly at the lock. Faint scratches on the wood around the metallic doorknob suggested that it had been tampered with; someone had picked the lock with a sharp edge of a blade. His heart resumed pounding painfully. He gaped at the bloody knife in his hand, wondering if it was in fact his son's or Marissa's blood he was staring at.

Slowly, he reached for the doorknob. The empty look in his eyes did not waver as he turned it and pushed the door open, letting it move under its own momentum until it was completely ajar. He stood at the doorway, peering inside with glassy eyes.

The living room stretched before him: dark, neat and strangely silent. A laundry hamper full of neatly folded clothes rested on the sofa. A few discarded toys, mostly action figures, lay scattered by a large colorful toy box in the corner of the room. Other than that, the room was immaculately tidy. There was no trace of Duo's alleged crime.

Hiro tucked the knife into his boxer's waistband. His chest had stopped bleeding, but dry blood sheeted down to his exposed stomach. Clutching his throbbing left shoulder, he stepped inside. He turned in the direction of the bedrooms, limping towards the small corridor leading to the rest of the apartment. He was dragging his left leg behind him; it was creaking with pain under the strain of each step, but his numb mind didn't even register the agony.

He stopped in front of Marissa's bedroom door; it was closed. His whole body shuddered as he imagined what he would find there: Marissa's mangled body, lying nude and violated on a bed soaked with blood.

He hesitated for a moment, and then opened the door.

A soft gush of wind swept by him as he did, caressing him with Marissa's distinctive scent. Her bedroom smelled like makeup powder, sweet body lotion and perfume. He stared at the room. It was also dark, tidy and silent; empty. The double bed in the center of the small room was neatly made. A pair of black baby-doll pajamas lay over the covers. There was no evidence that Marissa had spent the night there.

Overwhelmed with relief, Hiro whirled around quickly, turning to face the door opposite to Marissa's room: Adriel's bedroom door. It was also closed so he yanked it open swiftly, stumbling anxiously into the small room. Only toys and colorful posters were there to greet him in the dark. Adriel's small bed was also neatly made, covered with colorful sheets of some silly children's franchise.

Inhaling a shuddering breath, Hiro staggered clumsily towards the bed. His knees finally gave way and he collapsed on it, his whole body slumping with relief. Lying in his son's small bed, he drew the blanket up to his chest. He buried his face in the soft fabric, inhaling Adriel's scent deeply and exhaling with a quivering, soundless, whimper. His whole body quaked with forcefully suppressed sobs. He released a choked cry into the blanket, trembling strongly.

Duo had fooled him. Adriel and Marissa never came home that night. Marissa must have been assigned with an unexpected Friday-night shift at the hotel and therefore left their son with her mother. Usually, she left Adriel with him if she had to work nights, but that wasn't an option when Duo was around.

He didn't know if to laugh or cry; he never experienced a powerful emotion such as the relief sweeping through him at that very moment. Marissa knew that they weren't safe around him anymore. Unlike him, she was wise enough to get away from Duo. She was safe; his son was safe... They were alive.

"You called my bluff," Duo's gruff voice shattered his short-lived bliss. Hiro's body stiffened with alarm.

"I wanted you to die believing that I took everything away from you," Duo continued darkly as Hiro remained concealed behind the blanket. He listened mutely, a stony expression on his beaten face.

"You shoulda seen the look on your face!" Duo laughed tauntingly; "It was precious! Just wait, Heero. I'm gonna make you hurt even more... You'll scream like a randy whore when I'll fuck your _sorry_ _ass!_ "

That did it. Releasing a furious growl, Hiro leaped off the bed and tackled Duo to the ground. He scrambled urgently to his feet, fumbling with the blanket he pulled along with him when he hopped to the floor. Thrashing his hands anxiously, he was finally able to free himself. He flung the blanket down forcefully and it landed on Duo. The madman flailed his arms, trying to get the damn thing off of him. Hiro used the opportunity to make a run for it.

Ignoring the agonizing cries of his broken left arm and leg, he wobbled away gracelessly. Experience taught him that his limbs could take much abuse; it also taught him when it would be wiser to flee rather than to fight. In his condition, he didn't stand a chance against a stronger opponent. He had to search for a higher ground, for an advantage. Marissa's apartment was a painful reminder of his biggest weakness; he had to get away from there.

He lurched out of the apartment in a frantic sprint, limping badly as he staggered down the main hallway, aiming for the elevator. He was halfway there when Duo came rushing out of Marissa's apartment, panting harshly like a bull ready to charge. He caught up with Hiro quickly, jumping forward with his arms outstretched. He caught Hiro by the back of his tank top undershirt and yanked hard. The garment was torn to half at the front, so it stretched significantly until it caught around Hiro's arms, stopping him in his tracks. Duo tugged harder, grunting angrily. Hiro tried to jerk free, struggling to twist his arms out of the vest-like garment, but to no avail. Duo pulled even harder and he fell backwards with a short yelp, landing flat on his back and hitting his head hard on the hallway floor.

Colorful spots danced across his narrow line of vision. He blinked and they were gone, replaced by the sight of Duo's face looming over him. Startled, Hiro flung both his legs up, and, using every last bit of strength he had in him, delivered a powerful kick to Duo's chest. His left thigh exploded with pain on impact. He screamed hoarsely, his consciousness threatening to slip away, flickering like a candle in the wind about to extinguish.

Duo drew back, gasping raucously for air. " _Fucking bastard!_ " he cried madly, staggering another step back before he suddenly pinned his heel to the floor and lunged forward, screaming furiously as he attacked.

Hiro rolled over quickly, drawing the knife from his waistband. Duo ended up falling but stopped his plunge with both hands, landing in a prone position on the floor where Hiro had lain a second ago. His back was now vulnerable. Hiro seized the opportunity. He plunged the knife into Duo's shoulder, just above his right shoulder-blade where it would hurt, but avoid damaging anything vital. Duo let out a horrific scream that was bound to get someone's attention if there had been any more apartments on that floor. Blood gushed out of the wound, staining the young man's flashy red T-shirt.

" _Son-of-a-BITCH!_ " he roared and jumped to his feet from a push-up position. The pain wasn't enough to stop him. Duo reached backwards, yanked the knife out with one hand, spun back around and swung his leg at Hiro. The young man, who was still sitting on the floor, was struck in the head and was sent crashing against the wall behind him.

The world hazed in and out of darkness for a moment. His head was swimming with dizziness. Blood trickled down his already bruised face. He felt sick, about to vomit. His consciousness was slipping away from him. The darkness faded for a moment and he could see Duo advancing towards him with the knife.

He waited for him to take one more step closer and then kicked his feet from under him, delivering a painful blow to Duo's ankles. Duo fell and Hiro pushed away from the wall. He didn't know how he found the strength to do so, but suddenly he was on his feet, hurdling away in a frantic clumsy run towards the elevator.

The walls around him burst into flames. He was no longer running down the building's corridor, rather down a long and narrow metallic passageway consumed by flames. He could see a lone silhouette in the distance, standing by the elevator at the edge of the long corridor. The familiar feminine figure was looking at him with sorrowful, tearful blue eyes; speaking, but he could not hear her words. The flames consumed her. The elevator doors opened, revealing the black vastness of outer space. The vacuum sucked the weeping woman out in a matter of seconds.

" _MOMMY!!!_ " he screamed, anguished; his cry was that of a scared little boy. He reached his small hand forward as though he could actually catch her, but he was too little and it was already too late. His mother was floating out in space, dead. He was also being pulled towards oblivion by the powerful suction.

" _DADDY!!!_ " he screamed helplessly, calling out to the only person he could think of now that his mother was gone. " _ODIN!!!_ " He flung his small arms and legs frantically, trying desperately to hold onto something or else he'd be sucked into space as well. He screamed, terrified.

" _HELP ME!!!_ "

A strong hand lurched forward and grabbed him tightly by his shirt. He was pulled back into safety and straight into the arms of Odin. The broad, brown-haired Russian man smirked at his prize. The cold gleam in his Prussian blue eyes was heart-chillingly familiar. He was about to make him his _dog_ again.

" _NO!_ " he shrieked in a panicked boyish voice. He tried to break free, thrashing in Odin's hold. But he was just a little boy and Odin was too big and too strong.

"No! No! Lemme go! _MARISSA!!!_ " he cried out in a hysteric childish tone, kicking and punching the man's broad torso. The tall man suddenly let go and he fell to the floor, clambering hastily to his feet. He ran away as fast as his short legs could carry him.

He wanted to see Marissa! He wanted her to hug him and kiss him and make everything all right. He wanted to be with Marissa! His mother never loved him as much as she did. She never had time for him, she never cared enough for him, but Marissa always did. She always came through for him; she always made things better. He wanted Marissa to be his again... he wanted her to save him again. He had to find her, but no matter how fast he ran, he wasn't getting anywhere.

The metallic hallway was endless. He ran and he ran but he wasn't really moving towards anything. He was scared. Looking ahead, he noticed a single wooden door waiting for him at the edge of the infinite corridor. It was an antique wooden door decorated with golden lining: the door leading into _Eddy's Room_. The second he recognized it, he was running towards it and actually getting closer. He didn't want to go back into _that_ room, but there was nowhere else to run.

He clenched his eyes shut tightly until tears were squeezed out. His small legs carried him towards the room in a desperate run. He stumbled in through the door, coming to an abrupt halt. He wasn't a little boy anymore, but a young man in his teens. In an instant he was taller, stronger but no less afraid. It took him a moment to realize that he had just entered the strange orange dormitory room instead of Eddy's Room on MO2.

Teenage-Duo, who was sitting on one of the beds, noticed his sudden entrance and stood up quickly.

"Hiro," he called in concern. "What da Hell, man?!"

Now he was twenty-seven-years-old again, standing shakily in front of a fifteen-year-old Duo.

"Don't make me go back out there," he huffed, flustered; "He's going to—"

Something pounded loudly against the door and Duo's head shot up in its direction. A powerful force was trying to barge into the room. Duo seemed panicked.

"Hiro, you gotta wake up – _now!_ " he exclaimed in alarm; "Your mind's going berserk! Everything's going haywire! I can't keep you safe here for much longer. You _haffta_ wake up!"

The forceful bashing increased. Something horrible was trying to get it; a tidal wave of calamity. Hiro could feel it pounding and sizzling in the back of his head. Something was terribly wrong. His mind was about to burst.

"You have to go – _NOW!_ " Duo screamed urgently.

"What's going on?!" he demanded, shouting over the clamor. "What's out there?"

"Every God damn thing I was trying to protect you from all these years! Wake da fuck up or you'll _die!_ "

The banging got unbearably loud. The wooden door rattled forcefully. Duo ran towards it, slamming his body weight against it. He was pushing back with all his might in a hysterical attempt to keep whatever was out there from barging into the room.

"Hiro – get da fuck outta here!" he roared; " _WAKE UP!_ "

He awoke with a start and found himself still sitting on the hallway floor, propped against the wall. Mere seconds must have passed since he had kicked Duo down. His eyes darted sideways, searching for his assailant.

Duo was right next to him, rising sluggishly on all four limbs. His bright red T-shirt was drenched in dark stains of blood. His face and hair were also caked with blood; his long bangs sticking to his face in a clotted mess. Duo's ungainly movements suggested that he too was severely concussed, yet he was growling angrily as he turned around on hands and knees, facing his prey. He glared at Hiro; a grimace of utter contempt on his bloody face. Then, he snarled spitefully, as though knowing that he would soon triumph.

A renewed surge of adrenaline pumped through Hiro's battered heart, drowning out the pain. He tried to turn away from the wall and rise as well, but ended up falling to the floor in a prone position. His legs refused to cooperate any further; they were unable to take the same punishment he had endured as a soldier. He couldn't even crawl on four limbs, so he pulled himself along on his elbows as though advancing under heavy fire. His fractured left arm wailed agonizingly with each pull. He was shaking badly, exhausted, yet he crept on towards the elevator.

He could hear Duo behind him, crawling towards him like a hungry predator. He struggled to move faster, pulling himself along by his elbows, and then, just as he made it to the elevator doors, he felt Duo's hand close around his left ankle and _squeeze_. Violent white-hot surges wracked his whole body with excruciating pain. He writhed in agony, his head sagging down, forehead pressed against the floor and he choked back a painful groan. His damaged leg felt as though it had just caught fire. Moaning, he yanked it back with all his might and his ankle slipped out of Duo's grasp.

The elevator was just in reach, but even if he stretched his arm up as high as he possibly could, he would never reach the button to summon it. Suddenly, he wondered why he even bothered fleeing towards it. He wasn't thinking straight. How could he? His head felt as though it was about to explode, his mind short-circuiting. Random images kept flashing behind his eyelids each time he blinked; blazing and intense, burning into his psyche like flames eating away at celluloid film as the projector broke down. He tried to concentrate on the present even while his mind threatened to jump everywhere and anywhere at once: Odin was beating him up, he was crying, screaming, his mother was leaving again and he didn't know if she'll ever come back, J was barking orders at him, he was a dog again, ZERO was shrieking in his head and he was shouting out for help because he was drowning—! He was _DROWNING!!!_

Hiro gasped loudly and shook his head, trying to shake himself awake. He blinked repeatedly to clear the haze fogging his mind. He turned to look over his shoulder. He stared, dreadful, as Duo rose slowly to his knees. Hiro was still propped on his elbows, his legs trailing out lifelessly behind him. Duo knee-walked towards him; he was snarling victoriously.

"Wasn't much of a chase now, was it?" he taunted as he used the wall for support to stand up shakily. Wobbling slightly, he stood towering over Hiro, who lay helpless on the floor, wheezing loudly.

"At least you still have some fight left in you," he goaded on; "It woulda been pretty _lame_ if you didn't at least try."

Hiro whirled back around to the elevator. The button seemed as though it rested on the top of a towering mountain, but he refused to give up. His fingernails dug desperately into the plaster wall as he clawed his way up, his legs rising under him as dead weight. He pushed the button and then collapsed in a shaky huddle to the floor.

Duo laughed loudly. "So are we gonna wait for the elevator now? Maybe listen to some elevator music while we're at it?" he mocked, shaking his head playfully. "Seriously, Heero, you're such astupid old _dog_. Thank God I'm here so I can finally put you out of your misery."

The last thing Hiro saw before darkness claimed him was Duo lunging at him, laughing madly.

*             *             *

For a while, he was engulfed in thick blackness, hovering without form. Then, a pale blue light appeared in the distance, shedding dim blue rays over a gleaming metal floor. Hiro was no longer hovering in nothingness. He now found himself standing barefoot on the icy metallic floor, dressed in his torn white tank top undershirt and boxers. He was cold, shivering, and his nude torso and bare limbs covered in Goosebumps. Looking around, he ventured a step forward and was surprised to feel that it did not cause him more agony.

He was dreaming again.

A large window faded into existence a few steps ahead. It was a wall-to-wall window overlooking the Earth from orbit. He was at the MO2 observation deck. The large hall was silent; only the heavy hum of life support filling the air.

He spotted Teenage-Duo sitting on the window ledge, gazing out into space. The young pilot was dressed in the same skin-tight flight suit they had been issued for the final battle over Libra. His long braid dangled down the length of his back, gleaming under the ethereal blue halo surrounding him. The sight of him reminded Hiro of the tortured martyrs he had seen represented in paintings at Marissa's church.

"What happened to the dorm room?" Hiro asked; his quiet voice echoed within the large metallic hall.

"Destroyed," Duo answered simply, still gazing out the window. "Like everything else around here..." he sighed sadly and turned his head to face Hiro; "It was taken down by the swarm." He gestured his head towards the window and Hiro turned to have a look. Something vague and abysmal was raging out there, like an invisible storm howling above a bottomless ocean. Yet it wasn't wind, or rain nor thunder Hiro saw seething out the window. He would have compared the elusive horde to a swarm of locus, a pack of wild wolves or rampant whitewater, only it had no such form. It wasn't anything Hiro could possibly identify as he watched it fume ruthlessly through his very essence.

"This is the only place I had left to go, the last stronghold..." Duo explained sadly. "You're holding onto it with a vengeance."

"But I've been trying to let go of it for years," he argued.

"You've been avoiding it, that's all," Duo corrected, smiling miserably. "You've been avoiding anything that has to do with me... that's why I managed to find myself a place in this fucked up brain of yours... you left me plenty of room along with the memories you didn't want. But I couldn't stay hidden there anymore. It all came back when he... I... showed up. I resurfaced. And now... now there's nowhere left to hide. Everything around here is crumbling." He gazed up at the older man with a tortured expression and eyes full of remorse. "I'm sorry, Hiro. I couldn't stop it."

"It's not your fault," he assured him. "My condition has been deteriorating for a while now."

"Yeah, well, my return certainly didn't help..." Duo grumbled dejectedly and exhaled a miserable sigh. "I'm so sorry it has to end this way."

"Don't be," Hiro murmured quietly, stepping closer to the window. He took a seat next to Duo.

"If anyone is to blame, it's me. I had an opening but I couldn't take it. I couldn't bring myself to kill you."

"I know," Duo smiled softly; "I'm kinda flattered actually."

Hiro smiles back, just a little.

They sat together side by side in pleasant silence, gazing upon the majestic blue planet below.

"This is where it all started, isn't it?" Hiro mumbled dolefully, turning to look ahead at the empty observation deck.

"No," Duo shook his head in disagreement; "This is," he gestured at the room with both hands. Now they were sitting in the shuttle they used to escape OZ's C-102 base. The scene has simply changed around them, one image dissolving into another, and they were now sitting side by side on one of the benches inside the transport shuttle.

"This is when you first acknowledged me as your friend," Duo reminisced, smiling wistfully. "You were just full of surprises that day... I was sure you were gonna kill me."

"I could never kill you."

"Yeah." Duo chuckled; "I got that. Go figure."

Hiro shifted his weight from side to side, suddenly uncomfortable. It was strange sitting as an adult next to a much younger Duo. The age and height difference made him feel very protective of him all of a sudden. It was something akin to the feeling he got around Adriel; a paternal instinct to shelter the young boy. It made little sense, especially considering that the _real_ Duo was trying to kill him at that very moment, but Hiro couldn't help it. Knowing what he now knew about Duo, aware of his painful past, of the dreams and aspirations he never got to fulfill, he felt a deep sense responsibility towards the boy. He wanted nothing more than to shield him from further anguish.

"You worked so hard to pull me out of my shell," he finally decided to speak words he never would have dared expressing if he wasn't in his own head, speaking to a manifestation that wasn't fully real, but a part of his own mind.

"I suppose that somewhere deep down, I always wanted to be reached. You were the first person I... the only one I felt safe to depend on. You get me, Duo. I don't know how, but you do. You see right through me and I... I should have appreciated it more while I still could."

Duo gaped at him for a moment, dumbfounded. "Wow," he whispered, awed; "I certainly didn't expect _that_ one coming." He smiled, his face beaming with pride. "You've changed, Hiro. In a good way."

He smiled awkwardly. "Hitting your head as hard as I did would do that do a person," he muttered sarcastically and Duo smiled.

"Maybe," he agreed; "but I think being a father is what changed you the most. You're more... I dunno. Everything. I'm real proud of you, Hiro. I want you to know that. You've made something outta yourself, rebuilt yourself from scratch. That's fucking amazing."

Hiro turned away, humbled by the earnest compliment. He gazed out the shuttle's window, his expression turning sullen.

"Because of me, you were denied of a chance to grow as well." He turned to face Duo again, his blue eyes shimmering sadly. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's not your fault I'm stuck here." Duo gestured at the room again; they were back on the MO2 observation deck.

"Yes it is," Hiro insisted; "I was thinking about you when ZERO crashed," he clarified, his blue eyes shining regretfully. "It's my fault you were pulled into my head. ZERO was going haywire and all I could think of was that I messed things up... that I was too afraid to fight for our friendship, too tired to keep fighting for anything... I was ready to die and I... I regretted never telling you why I walked away. This is my fault," he repeated sadly. "I was thinking about you and now you're stuck here... just an echo... frozen in time."

Duo smiled kindly, shaking his head. "That's not it," he assured Hiro; "Time kinda stopped for me when J's kill-switch was activated – which was _not_ your fault or anything," he hurried to add; "In a way, that person out there... the man J made me into... he never left MO2," he explained, sighing ruefully. "He's stuck there too..." Duo chuckled bitterly. "I'm kinda scattered allova da place, aren't I?" he joked, laughing awkwardly.

Hiro scolded frowningly. "This isn't funny," he admonished.

"No, it's not," Duo sighed. He turned to look at Hiro grimly.

"Hiro, if that guy... if that sick version of me kills you, then we both die here. If I kill you, I'll also be killing the last shred of sanity I have left in me... I mean in _you_. I mean, shit, this is confusing! You get what I'm sayin', right? I'm the real me, but I'm stuck here, and he's not me, but he's the real thing... fuck, this is a mess!"

Hiro couldn't help but smile at Duo's muddled statement.

"Yeah, I get it," he said, smiling sadly. He had missed Duo, the _real_ Duo... his Duo... terribly. Duo could always make him feel like smiling, even in the grimmest situation.

"At least we'll die in good company," he offered humorously, trying to make light of their grim situation.

"Jesus, Hiro! This isn't a joke!" Duo fretted and Hiro laughed a little.

Duo gawked at him, stunned by the atypical gesture. Then, he smiled back, feeling stupid, and settled down. He exhaled a melodramatic sigh, swinging his head back to look up at the ceiling.

"Urgh! I dunwanna think about it anymore!" he announced dramatically and jumped to his feet. "Take me somewhere nice!" he ordered and Hiro frowned at the odd request.

Duo scoffed, rolling his eyes. "God, you're dense!" he accused playfully. "I wanna die somewhere nice," he explained; "This is _your_ fucked-up brain, so c'mon! Think happy thoughts or whatever and let's get outta here! I want you to share something nice with me before we go. Yanno, for old times' sake. Show me something nice, something happy. Get me outta MO2."

Hiro stood up slowly, looking intensely at Duo. Eight years ago, Marissa asked him for the exact same thing – she wanted him to share something joyous with her. Back then all he had to share with her were small pleasant moments he had shared with Duo; moments he refused to share with her because it hurt too much. He had no joy to share with her, so she helped him find some. Now Duo was asking him for the same thing and all he could think of was sharing his memories of Marissa. There had to be irony in there somewhere...

He gave it some thought and finally chose a memory he wanted to share with Duo, hoping that he would be able to appreciate it.

"I can show you what Christmas is about," he offered and this time it was Duo's turn to frown.

"Christmas? _Now?_ " he exclaimed, baffled; "What da Hell does _that_ haffta do with anything?"

Hiro shrugged as though it should be obvious.

"We were sitting here," he gestured at the MO2 observation deck, "talking, and you were trying to explain to me the meaning of Christmas," he explained; "You were being sarcastic, telling me that the holiday was about getting drunk and buying presents."

"Oh," Duo let out, stupefied. "I did?"

Hiro nodded. This echo of Duo didn't remember that conversation because he was stored in ZERO's memory banks months before that happened, when Duo was forced to pilot Wing ZERO.

"Yes, you did," Hiro confirmed softly. "You tried to coax me into drinking with you so I'd stop moping about the end of the war..."

Duo laughed. "Okay, that sounds like me, yeah. I mean, what do _I_ know about Christmas, right?"

Hiro smiled sadly. "I know that you've had the privilege of celebrating a few Christmases at the Maxwell Church," he said carefully.

"You do?" Duo marveled; "shit man, just _how_ _much_ do you know 'bout me?!"

Hiro fought back a cunning smile. "You've been in my head for ten years, I'd imagine that quite a lot. Suddenly, it's all here."

Duo rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, my condolences," he scoffed.

Hiro ignored him.

"I know that Father Maxwell couldn't afford presents for all the children, but he always reserved enough money to buy one for you."

"Yeah, I always traded them for smokes when he wasn't around," Duo mumbled distantly, shrugging. "It didn't feel right to be the only one who got a present."

"You were his favorite."

"Beats me why he'd choose me as his _star pupil_. I was the only one who wouldn't listen when he preached about God and stuff."

"He must have seen something else in you," Hiro offered; "A kind of faith that was stronger than his God. That was what made you such a good soldier. He must have recognized the strength of your convictions. He knew you'd do great things."

"Yeah, well, if I was so great, then how come everyone else my age got adopted except for me, huh? How come _they_ got a family for Christmas while all I got was another crummy _present_?! Those stupid gifts were an apology, Hiro, nothing more. Father Maxwell felt sorry for me, sorry that here I was spending yet _another_ Christmas at the orphanage. He would talk about God and his _mysterious ways_ and promise me that by next year I'll be celebrating with my new family and shit. You know where I ended up instead? Snorting _coke_ in some alley, that's where!" He exclaimed angrily and then heaved a long, miserable sigh.

"Hiro, the reason I couldn't tell you what Christmas is all about wasn't because I was trying to be funny. It was because I hate it just as much as you do. And the only reason you hate this holiday is because of me... Shit, man, this isn't making me happy at all. You suck at this, Hiro," Duo accused, dejected; "Big time."

"Then let me show you what I've learned about Christmas," Hiro insisted and the dark observation deck faded away, replaced by a different scene.

They were now standing in Marissa's living room. It was lit warmly, decorated festively for the holiday. Red, green and golden ornaments adorned every fixture. Christmas carols were playing on the radio. A large Christmas tree stood proudly in the corner by the window, bright with colorful lights and decorations. It was snowing outside.

"I carried that damn tree up six flights of stairs," Hiro informed Duo, leaning towards him slightly as he whispered: "She picked the biggest one she could possibly find and the damn thing wouldn't fit into the elevator."

Duo giggled playfully. "You're such a _lapdog_ when it comes to that woman," he teased, then realized what he said and looked like he was ready to shove his foot in his mouth. "Shit, man, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"Shush!" Hiro silenced him harshly, dismissing the apology, as someone walked into the room. It was Marissa. She was dressed in a pretty red skater-dress with a flared skirt hugging her full curvy figure; it also had a very deep cleavage. Her lush brown curls framed her lovely face, cascading down her shoulders and bouncing slightly as she walked on a pair of white high heel shoes. She was carrying a tray of appetizers and two wide glasses full of eggnog, smiling as she entered the living room. Her red lipstick shade matched her dress and her lush lips gleamed under the soft light.

"Jesus..." Duo huffed under his breath; "no wonder you fell for her. Talk about a _Milf_..."

"It was hardly her looks," Hiro maintained and Duo rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, right," he snorted; "You were looking for a hot _mama_... with a booty to _die_ for!"

Hiro silenced him with a sharp jab of his elbow to Duo's ribs. "Idiot," he grunted and Duo laughed goodheartedly, rubbing his aching ribs.

"I'm glad you could make it," Marissa greeted softly with a smile, talking to someone behind them. She was looking straight past them as though they weren't there. Duo and Hiro turned around to face the other side of the room just as a little voice chirped:

"Told'ja he'll come!" a small boy called out happily. It was Adriel, merely three years old – a short and chubby little thing standing by the open front door. He was dressed in a colorful Christmas sweater, his smooth ebony black hair falling into his jubilant hazel eyes in a messy fashion similar to his father's unruly bangs.

"Adriel could always drive a hard bargain," Hiro leaned to whisper an excuse in Duo's ear and then walked over to the toddler standing by the door. He took the child's hand, slipping into his role in the reenactment. Duo smiled at the sight of father and son standing hand in hand. Hiro was no longer wearing his sliced white tank top undershirt and boxer shorts, and the bruises disappeared from his face. Instead he wore a plain pair of gray sweatpants and a blue wool sweater; he also had his black eyeglasses on.

Adriel was standing a step ahead of Hiro and according to how the child held his hand it was obvious that he had just dragged the reluctant young man into the apartment.

"Adriel insisted that I come over," Hiro clarified, speaking to Marissa; "He made it very difficult to refuse."

"I know," she smiled playfully; "I told him not to take 'no' for an answer."

"I wanna open my presents!" the toddler squeaked and ran over to the tree. "Which one did you get me, Hiro?" he asked, rummaging through the gifts with his chubby little hands.

"Adriel," Marissa rebuked softly; "you know that _Santa_ brings you your presents," she reminded him.

"Hiro said there's no such thing as Santa," the boy mumbled matter-of-factly, continuing his search through the colorful boxes under the tree.

"He did _what?!"_ Marissa exclaimed and turned to glare at Hiro.

Observing the scene, Duo burst into laughter. "Oh shit man, that's harsh!"

Hiro sent Duo a quick glare to silence him, before falling back into his role. He turned to Marissa. "You shouldn't fill his head with nonsense," he scolded; "Adriel should know where the gifts came from."

" _No_ ," she hissed in a low and dangerous tone, fuming; "he should be allowed to believe in something magical!"

"I think he'll appreciate a gift from someone tangible rather than believing in some ridiculous figure sneaking into his home in the middle of the night."

Marissa was about to argue, but then she seemed to think over what he said, and closed her mouth, sighing. "Fine," she muttered, "I can't talk sense into you when you're like this."

Hiro looked up at Duo again. "I was drunk," he explained shamefully, and turned back to Marissa, angry.

"Next time give me a heads up before you send him over uninvited."

"You're not supposed to be drinking, Hiro!" she exploded angrily; "Do you want to have another _stroke_ – is that it?!" she demanded. "Alan warned you to stop drinking!"

"It's Christmas," was his only explanation and she sighed resignedly at those words, knowing the sad tale they told. It was enough to pacify her somewhat.

"Adriel wanted to spend Christmas Eve with you," she whispered so the child will not hear; "He wanted someone else to be here except for me... he wants a family."

"You have your own family to celebrate with," Hiro pointed out spitefully.

"No, thanks to _you,_ I don't," Marissa retorted bitterly. "My mom won't step foot in this place."

" _You're_ the one who wanted us to be neighbors!" he whispered nastily; "I didn't ask for this – _any_ of this! I told you that you should stay away from me!"

"Well you should've thought about it before you knocked me up!"

" _You_ were the one who won't go on the _damn pill!_ " Hiro accused heatedly and little Adriel's head shot up in the shouting man's direction; his small features paled with alarm.

"Is this supposed to be a _happy_ memory or are you two gonna be bickering like this the whole night?" Duo interjected.

"It gets better," Hiro assured him and then turned back to Marissa. "Just give me a damn drink," he muttered and snatched a glass full of eggnog from the tray she was holding.

"It's _non_ -alcoholic," she informed meanly, using an arrogant tone of voice that usually drove him _mad_. Scowling angrily, Hiro gulped the drink down anyway. He walked over to the tree, where little Adriel had turned to lift a large colorful present and rattled it, trying to hear what was inside.

"This one's from me," Hiro told the toddler, his tone softer now, and turned to look over his shoulder, at Duo. "They're all from me," he explained; "I gave her the money she needed. She's pissed because it was all I was willing to do."

"I hate to break it this to you, Hiro, but so far all you've done is prove that Christmas is all about getting drunk and buying presents..." Duo teased with a cynical smile.

Hiro ignored him and turned back to Adriel.

"What's in it?" the child piped curiously, shaking the large box.

"Open it and find out," Hiro offered in a gentler tone. Hearing this, Marissa calmed down as well. She approached the two while Adriel hurried to tear through the colorful wrapping.

"Awesome!" he called as he drew the box out and revealed a large train set.

"Do you like it?" Marissa asked with a faltering smile as she knelt by her son, opposite of where Hiro was sitting next to the boy; she seemed to be struggling to put their little squabble behind her.

"Yeah!" the toddler called excitedly; "It's just like on TV!Wow! Cool! Here's Thomas and everyone!" the tot chirped joyfully. "Mamá, can I open it now? I wanna build the tracks!" he turned to Hiro, jumping up and down eagerly. "I wanna build it! Let's build it, Hiro! Come on! I'll drive Thomas!" he called, shoving the large box into Hiro's hands.

Hiro opened the box for Adriel. Duo watched the scene play out before him, his eyes shining warmly at what he saw. Hiro and Marissa put aside their differences for the night and simply spent a pleasant evening with their child. They all sat down for a festive dinner, during which Adriel babbled on and on about anything and everything, asking more than a dozen questions per-minute. Marissa and Hiro took turns answering. Smiles and laughter soon filled the dinner table as the conversation kept going. The little boy was endearing; his smiles and pointless chatting have chased his parents' bitterness away.

After supper, they all sat down by the Christmas tree and built the train-tracks around it. They played with the trains and Adriel was ecstatic. Then he started nagging his parents about the rest of the presents, so they opened them all one by one. Most of them were toys, books and other accessories for little Adriel. Duo was happy to see that Marissa also bought something for Hiro (it was a bottle of men's cologne) and he accepted it guilty.

Hours went by pleasantly. When the boy grew tired of playing, the three settled on the sofa. Adriel sat between his parents, resting his head against Hiro's shoulder while Marissa read him a Christmas tale. Hiro's hand was caressing the child's soft hair absentmindedly as he too listened to Marissa's storytelling. Duo smiled.

Eventually, Adriel fell asleep. Hiro carried the small child to his bedroom and tucked him gently into his bed. Marissa closed Adriel's bedroom door. The two turned to look at each other silently. From there, it was a short trip to Marissa's bedroom, and when passion flared, Duo turned away respectfully. The scene faded to black and he was back at the MO2 observation deck. Hiro was standing in front of him, back in his torn undershirt which hung from his shoulders like an open vest, and tattered boxer shorts. There was a wounded expression on his battered face.

"I didn't think about this place once that evening, and I didn't even need a drink to avoid it," he told Duo bleakly. "I stayed over until morning. We regretted it later, but at least for one lousy night I felt... content. More than that," he reflected thoughtfully; "I was happy. I felt like I finally had something... something that was mine. I never had that before. Not even with my mother. She was never mine. She cared more about her work and her husband than for me. Marissa was willing to put everything aside, her family and her religious practices, just so that I could spend Christmas with my son." He smiled wistfully. "She made sure I will never make him feel the way my mother made me feel. She taught me that Christmas was about being faithful to the ones you love. It's about putting differences aside and showing that you care, even if it's just for one night. Thanks to her, Adriel knows that I'm here for him if he needs me. From then on, my door was always open for him and he comes and goes as he pleases," he concluded with a faint, wistful smile.

Duo smiled softly. "Now _that_ is a _very_ nice memory," he whispered proudly. His face hardened with resolve. "Which is why there's no _fucking_ way I'm lettin' you die now, Hiro."

"Duo, there's no use—"

"Yes there is!" the braided teenager contended avidly. "If you could just say those kinda things to me... if you could just be _this_ honest with me... then maybe you could talk some sense into me, stop me before I—"

"It's not the same!" Hiro argued, frustrated; "This is... I'm in my own head now... I can say what I want and it won't matter. Out there..." he shook his head sadly; "it's different."

"Well it shouldn't be!" Duo insisted. "You trust me, Hiro, don't you? Please... I'm asking for just a little more faith. Trust me to do the right thing. I know that you can talk me outta of this madness. You're the only one who can, because you're the only one who matters to me. You're all I've got and that's why I _know_ I won't hurt you. Talk to me, Hiro... please. Just... just be yourself, like now... with me."

"I can't. You don't want me as I am now." He bowed his head down sorrowfully. "You're after... you're looking for Heero Yuy."

"Then make me realize he's gone!" Duo stomped his foot down in frustration. "If he's gone then there's no reason for this madness, don't you get it?! Talk to me, Hiro... please. Only you can save us."

Hiro simply stood there, staring numbly at the teenage boy he used to know. Duo wanted him to take yet another leap of faith for him, as he had done when they had first met. Back then he was a foolish, rash and lonely teenager brainwashed by military training, driven by ideology and the naïve delusions that filled the mind of any growing boy. He had nothing to lose, so he put his trust in Duo and took the plunge. Now... now things were different. He knew better than to offer his reliance freely; he knew better than to simply take a chance on someone regardless of consequences.

At fifteen, he had cared little for the outcome of his actions; it could have gone either way, good or bad, and he wouldn't have cared because his life did not matter to anyone, including himself. His life used to be something cheap and disposable. He had lived with this notion since early childhood, growing up with the knowledge that his existence mattered to no one, even to his own mother, and that hurtful insight stuck with him through the years, fundamentally shaping who he was: a person whose existence was of no importance, from womb to grave.

And then Duo came along. Somehow, he mattered to Duo and he was punished for it. He had learned that trust came with a painful price: it summoned hurt, abandonment and betrayal. It was a lesson he had learned starting and ending with Duo; a lesson that has turned him cautious, always wary of bonding with another human being. He was afraid to put his trust in people again and that fear often filled him with shame and self-loathing.

It took him close to three years to open up to his own son and even that was only partially. The only person he was wholly intimate with was Marissa, and that was solely because she had already seen him at his worse. His faith in her developed as naturally as a bond between mother and child. It was a corrective emotional experience making up for years of neglect and resentment towards his real mother, or so his therapist at the time had so boldly claimed. That wasn't the case with Duo. His trust in Duo formed as a necessity; a relationship between comrades, forged through fire. Although friendship was established, it never could have reached the same level of intimacy he had learned to share with someone as an adult. The apparition standing before him was asking too much of him... He couldn't.

"I can't," Hiro tried to explain; "I can't just talk you out of this."

"Try, Hiro... please," Duo pleaded desperately; "Just... try. If not for me then for Marissa and Adriel. Do it so you could spend another Christmas with them."

"Even if I can talk you out of killing me, I might not live long enough to see Christmas. It makes no difference, not to me, but maybe if I'll let you kill me it would cure you of the psychosis... Maybe J's curse will be over once I'm dead."

"And then what? I'll live the rest of my life knowing that I killed you – my best bud, the only one who really gives a fuck about me? No way! No! Get da fuck out there and _end_ this! You ended a fucking _war –_ this should be a _freaking_ walk in the park! Get out there, Hiro – NOW!" Duo yelled and pushed him forcefully away, slamming him through the large panoramic window.

The glass shattered loudly around him and he was falling. His eyes snapped wide open and in less than a split second he asserted that he had been thrown against his own bed.

He was back in his bedroom. The ceiling fan was still spinning lazily above him. The room was dark, illuminated by faint light filtering through the blinds. Duo was standing over him, watching him in sick fascination. The bloody army knife was in his hand, ready to deliver mayhem.

Hiro rolled over quickly and fell off the other side of the bed, landing on his broken left side. He cried out in pain but still hurled his hand up to grab the mattress, struggling to push his useless body up and stand on two shaky feet.

Duo circled the bed, smirking mockingly at his victim's hopeless attempt to stand up and fight. He flexed his fingers around the knife in his fist, his eyes hungry for blood.

Hiro tried to force his legs to move and carry him out of Duo's way, but they no longer listened to his implores.

"Be a good boy and _sit!_ " Duo called madly, lunging at Hiro with his knife. He sprung it forward, aiming at Hiro's chest.

Instinct kicked in again and Hiro deflected the thrust with his right forearm. He spun and grabbed Duo's arm in a futile attempt to flip him over his shoulder, but Duo simply twisted his arm away, wrapped it around Hiro's neck and whirled the young man around so that he crashed against him, back to front, and remained locked in a stranglehold.

Hiro's hand was still clawing uselessly into Duo's forearm, while Duo remained the one holding the knife. He forcefully kicked Hiro's feet from under him. Hiro ended up on the floor with Duo leaning over him, holding the blade at his neck.

He leered spitefully. "Good going, _sobaka_. Anything else you'd like to try or can we finally get this party started?" He pressed his blade to Hiro's neck, digging into tender flesh.

"Duo—" Hiro choked out, but then Duo pressed the knife harder into his throat, silencing him.

"Shush..." he whispered, leaning into Hiro's ear; "no more talking..." he breathed the words softly; his voice carrying dangerous lust. He began nibbling the young man's earlobe playfully; "I told you... I've been waiting for this ever since I got here..."

"No you haven't," Hiro gritted through clenched teeth, turning his head away from Duo's unwelcomed ministration. "You came here looking for a friend..."

Duo ceased his molesting and pushed up, supported by his arm. He was still holding the knife to Hiro's neck with his other hand. Leaning over his victim, he cocked his head aside and frowned irately.

"What kinda dirty trick you trying to pull?" he grunted; "I thought you didn't want to be my friend!"

"I never said that," Hiro stated calmly, despite the blade digging into his neck as he spoke. "I said I _can't_ be your friend, not that I didn't want to, there's a difference."

"Don't fuck with me, Heero!" Duo exploded heatedly. "I know you've been talking to Quatre! He's been poisoning you against me all along!"

"You're wrong."

"Bullshit! I saw you! I saw you and that _faggot_ Preventer agent! They were tellin' you all about it – weren't they!" Duo pressed the knife harder to Hiro's neck, breaking into the pale skin. A slow trickle of blood oozed onto the already bloody blade.

"You knew about that _slut_ I killed since day one – didn't you?! You and that _bitch_ of yours – you knew all about what I did on L4! You didn't even open the door for me when I first got here!" he accused hatefully, pushing the blade into Hiro's throat even harder. "Quatre told you I was comin' – didn't he?! You were playing with me all along, leading me on, making me believe that you were on my side just so you can hand me over to Quatre! You fucking _bastard!_ "

Hiro winced at the painful stinging sensation in his injured throat, but shook his head nonetheless.

"I didn't open the door at first because I fainted," he explained quietly; "That's why you heard Chowder barking for so long. Your presence has this effect on me... I can explain..."

"Don't fuck with me! Fainting or no fainting, you closed the door in my face without even hearing me out!"

"I was surprised to see you, that's all," Hiro insisted; "Quatre didn't contact me before you came," he continued hoarsely, his voice strained; "Yesterday was the first time I spoke to him in over a decade..." he whispered shakily against the blade biting into his neck; "He did tell me about how you killed his niece, but he wasn't trying to turn me against you. He just wanted to find you... he wants to help."

" _HORSESHIT!_ " Duo screamed and jerked up; pulling the blade away from Hiro's bleeding neck. He remained straddling the young man's hips, waving the knife in the air as he shouted animatedly:

"He can't help me! Quatre ain't done me nuthin' but wrong! It's _his_ fault I killed that slut! It's his fault! I came to him for help and all he did was sign me up to some _stupid_ rehab center! I never woulda gone to him if _you_ hadn't split on me – you _ass!_ It's _your_ fault she died! It's _your_ fault! Her blood is on _your_ hands – you _backstabbing bastard!_ I needed you and you were _gone!_ "

Tears were flooding Duo's eyes by the time he was done shouting. Salty streams skidded down his blood-streaked cheeks. He shook his head wildly as he spoke so that his choppy blood-clotted hair was now a tangled mess. His nose was running. He reached his hand up, the one holding the bloody knife, and wiped it hastily, sniffling.

Down on the floor, Hiro lay motionlessly, staring up at Duo with pained blue eyes. His head was buzzing; white-noise seething loudly in his mind. A tight nervous knot had formed in his stomach. It was now or never, he realized. He had to keep his promise to the shadow of a person living in his head and be honest with Duo. The problem was that he didn't quite know where to start.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you," he chose to begin with the simple truth. "Please believe me that if I could have helped it, I never would have left you to fight the addiction on your own."

Duo sniffled quietly and wiped away his tears. He looked down at Hiro, his expression miserable. "You wouldn't have?" he asked like a doubtful, hurting child.

Hiro nodded his head, suppressing a grimace as the movement caused the gash in his neck to bleed even harder. "No," he whispered huskily, keeping his gaze locked with Duo's to convey his honestly. "But I had my own battle to fight."

"The brain injury," Duo guessed, recalling what Dr. Grabelsky mentioned the other day; "Is that why you disappeared?"

Hiro nodded his head faintly. "It was a part of it," he agreed solemnly; "but I think we both know that I shut you out long before that happened."

"Why?" Duo cried like a wounded child, finally voicing the only thing he truly wanted to know since he arrived that week: "I wanted us to do more than just fight side by side..." he mumbled and wiped his runny nose again, sniffling miserably; "I thought we were friends... I thought you won't leave me like the others did..."

This time, Hiro hesitated before speaking. He weighed the stakes, deliberating whether or not he had in him to speak the whole truth. Eventually, he decided that he had nothing to lose, because he could already feel his life slipping away.

"We _were_ friends," he admitted quietly; his voice wavered slightly despite his resolve. It was hard speaking truths he had denied for so long. "But I had to keep my distance, even while I still wanted... _needed_... you as my friend."

He studied Duo's face carefully while speaking each word, waiting to see how he would react. The young man was still sitting on top of him, straddling his hips, staring at him with a stony expression. His posture had slumped in defeat and fatigue. His shoulder was still bleeding from the stab wound Hiro had delivered earlier. By the large dark stain soaking his torn red T-shirt, it seemed that he had lost quite a lot of blood. They were both at the end of their rope, struggling to hold on for a bit longer until issues were finally resolved.

"You're talking about MO2," Duo finally stated, whispering as though speaking shameful words of blasphemy.

Hiro nodded carefully. "Do you remember?" he breathed the question out dreadfully.

"Some of it..." Duo muffled wretchedly; he rubbed his eyes tiredly, disheartened. "Enough to guess what happened. I was hoping it was just a sick dream, but..." He bowed his head down shamefully, closing his eyes. "Ever since I got here I... I keep hearing you scream... in my head..." he whispered shakily and reopened his eyes. Looking down, Duo suddenly seemed to realize what kind of intimate position he was sitting in and quickly climbed off of Hiro to sit on the floor beside him. He leaned back against the bed, drawing his knees up to his chest. He buried his face between his legs and hugged them tightly, still holding the bloody knife in one hand.

"At first I thought it was because of that slut... that I'm just thinking about her, mixing shit up in my head, but... Oh God..." he wept into the shelter of his knees; "Lolita wasn't the first one... _you_ were... Oh God!" he sobbed, shaking his head against his knees in denial; "I remember cutting you... down there... Oh God!"

Duo was sobbing strongly now, hugging his knees tightly and keeping his head bowed, face hidden. Hiro watched him mutely, unable to say a word. His heart was pounding dreadfully and his features had turned even paler. Duo remembered; he remembered MO2. Hiro was utterly mortified. His mind went blank and he couldn't think of anything more to say.

"I am _so_ sorry, Heero!" Duo wailed brokenly; "I am so sorry... Oh God... I am so sorry! What da Hell is wrong with me?!" He turned his head aside to look at Hiro, his face soaked with tears. "Why am I doing these things? How could I... how could I do that to you... How could I... why would I ever... I... I never wanted to hurt you, but I... Oh God... I just have to..." Shaking like a leaf, he covered his face with both hands and leaned into his knees.

"Oh God... I... I keep doin' shit I'm not supposed to..." he wept, shaking his head against his knees. "I say things... and I... I know it's not cool... I know it's not alright... but I do it anyway. I can't fight it... I'm so sick of fighting it all the time. It burns inside and I haffta to do these things... I haffta or it'll keep on hurtin'..." He closed his eyes sadly and more tears squeezed out, shedding down in a stream of anguish.

"I try, yanno? It's so hard to stay clean, but I try... I try because I wanna be better, like I was back then, when we were still buddies... God, I try! I try so hard, Heero! I used to pray every day so that I'll get better, but God doesn't care... He never did. I'm just a joke, yanno? Someone He can piss on... I pray and He laughs and I keep screwing shit up so He can laugh some more... I hate this so much... it's not fair! I was trying so hard to get better just for you and now look... Fuck, Heero – _look_ _at me!_ " he cried and jerked his head up, looking at Hiro with wild, tearful blue eyes. He presented his bloody hands forward, shaking. "I'm a fuckin' mess! I'll never be alright, will I? I'm just a sinner in His eyes... God doesn't care about people like me... No one does. He took away anyone who ever gave a shit... He even made me push _you_ away..." he wept hopelessly, his bloody cheeks drenched in tears. He was quaking with despair.

Hiro stared at him mutely, a sorrowful expression on his haggard face. Words would not come to him, even though he ached to offer comfort. He struggled to sit up. His body had numbed to a point beyond pain, pushed beyond it could possibly bear, yet somehow still functioning. His mind was shrilling with a splitting headache. His chest was throbbing dully; the pain gushing down his left arm in agonizing pulses. His left leg was dead like stone. He used his one functional arm to push off the floor and rise wobbly to a sitting position. Once upright, his head started swimming. Bile rose in his throat. He coughed, trying to fight off the nausea. Coughing only instigated more pain. A blinding flash of white agony wracked through him and he grimaced, faltering under the violent, torturous surges.

Somehow, he managed to drag his useless body a few feet across the floor so that he was now sitting next to Duo. He leaned heavily against the bed, panting and straining against the pain.

Duo had curled into a miserable ball again, burying his face between his legs.

"I'm so tired of fighting this..." he cried into his knees; "I dun wanna be like this anymore, Heero," he whimpered shakily and raised his head up to look at Hiro again. His cobalt eyes were shining desolately; he seemed completely shattered.

"That's why I came here..." he wept; "I got no one else to turn to, Heero... no one. Not even God. It's either you or nuthin', Heero, 'n I dun wanna be like this anymore. I wanna be better... I wanna be me again... That's why I need you so much... I know it's sick... I know... I know, Heero, but shit... I can't do this without you..."

"I know," Hiro rasped with much effort. It was hard to keep conscious. Something in the back of his head was trying to pull him under, dragging him into a dark pit from which there was no return. He blinked rapidly, trying to stay focused. There was one last thing he had to do before he died. He had to save his friend.

"This is sick, yanno?" Duo let out with a miserable sob/chuckle. "I need you more than anything, but I need to hurt you even more. You make me crazy, Heero. I don't want it to be like this, but you do. You make me _sick_. I hate you and I love you just the same. I want you more than anything. I mean _really_ want you, and that's so wrong because I don't really want you _that_ way, yanno? I love you so much, but... shit. Not like that, yanno? But it's like it doesn't even matter what I want, how I feel... it don't count. Hell, I dunno _what_ I feel anymore... nothing's real. This is so fucked up. I want it to stop... Oh God, Heero, just make it stop..." he begged, crying.

Keeping quiet, Hiro studied Duo, an unspoken battle waging in his Prussian blue eyes. He closed them forlornly and released a resigned sigh, bidding a silent farewell to the world. He knew what he had to do to save Duo.

He turned to distraught young man, reaching his only working hand up and placing it on top of Duo's. He held his hand, squeezing it gently.

"I will," he promised and Duo looked up, raising his head from his knees.

"You'll make it stop?" he sobbed, both hopeful and broken, and Hiro nodded to confirm.

"Yes," he said as held onto Duo's hand tightly; the same hand that was still gripping the bloody knife. He kept his gaze locked with Duo's as he offered him a faint, miserable, smile.

"No regrets," he whispered calmly as he pulled Duo's limp hand up by the wrist, along with the knife, and held it up in the air above their heads. He kept his eyes on Duo's the whole time. "You do what you have to do," he spoke steadily as he leaned closer to Duo. His right hand was still locked around Duo's wrist, keeping the arm with the knife up as he closed the distance between them completely, his face hovering a mere inch from Duo's. "This happened because of me, so I'm going to fix it," he whispered huskily, his eyes shining warmly, full of forgiveness.

Looking deeply into Hiro's eyes, Duo felt as though they were the only two people in the world. He felt safe; safe to believe that Hiro will make everything alright. He didn't dare to move at all even as the other man leaned even closer, their lips nearly touching so that he could feel Hiro's words brush gently against his gaping mouth:

"No matter what, you'll always be my first, and only, true friend," Hiro breathed the words out softly and then sealed Duo's chapped lips with a kiss. He closed his eyes, and took the ultimate plunge.

Duo's eyes widened like round saucers. Startled, he gasped sharply, sucking all of the air out from Hiro's mouth. His whole body went terribly rigid and he froze, stunned to the point of numbness. His mind was shrieking _'WHAT DA FUCK?!'_ as everything flickered wildly on and off, until finally it faded to black.

With his mouth locked around Duo's salty lips, Hiro let go of his arm and it flopped down lifelessly, along with the knife. He pulled away slowly, breaking the kiss, and stared quietly at Duo. The young man sat still, frozen in shock, an empty expression on his pale and tear-streaked face. His apathy briefly reminded Hiro of Relena's stupor after he had kissed her all those years ago. He supposed that his actions were indeed unexpected, and that was why he chose to kiss Duo. It was a final gesture for goodbye; a sign of friendship, trust, closeness and most of all forgiveness of what was to come.

Duo's fist, resting on the floor, tightened around the knife. Hiro's eyes darted towards the blade and then quickly back to Duo's face. He saw him blink, and when his eyes reopened a second later awareness has returned to his face. The madman was back, smirking at him darkly. He licked his already moist lips, savoring the kiss.

"Mmm... _good_ _dog_ ," he sniggered, smiling nastily. "I feel like Sleeping Beauty!"

Hiro glared at him in disgust. "Let's end this," he said and leaned his head back, exposing his vulnerable bleeding neck, inviting Duo's blade to slay him as he had slain his dog.

Duo laughed. "Oh man, you're making this way too easy!" he rebuked playfully. "You're taking all the fun out of it!"

"Just do it," Hiro grumbled gruffly, his head still leaning backwards so he couldn't see Duo. "Finish this."

"Oh, you've started something and I intend to finish it alright, just not the way you had in mind..."

Duo pushed Hiro back forcefully and he fell flatly against the hardwood floor, facing up. The air was knocked out of him and he coughed, wincing in pain. Duo was on top of him in a second, sneering down at him.

"You ain't gonna be as lucky as your stupid _pet_ ," he warned, whispering madly; "I told you, Heero, if you ever dared to call us friends again I'll take away everything you care about, but not before I fuck the living daylights outta you. You'll die hurting, broken and _small_ ; pathetic, just like the _dog_ that you are!"

"You can do whatever you want with me, but you'll never get your hands on them," Hiro rasped hoarsely; "This ends here, with me. Kill me and stop this madness."

"You're _wrong_ ," Duo jeered poisonously; "I can still take away someone you care about, even if that bitch and her son ain't here. You'll die grieving, Heero, I'll see to it!" Duo hissed intensely and then prepared to plunge the knife into his own chest.

"Duo – don't!" Hiro pushed off the floor with a jerk, hurling his hand up to stop Duo from impaling himself. He grabbed Duo's hand and twisted it out of the way. Duo fought back, trying to pull his arm away from Hiro. Letting out an angry growl, he launched forward and tackled Hiro to the floor. They wrestled for the knife, rolling and thrashing across the small bedroom floor. Hiro tried to grab hold of the knife, but Duo's grip was relentless. No matter how hard he tried to twist it out of Duo's hold as they quarreled, the madman wouldn't let go.

It wasn't long before Duo overpowered him. The fight ended with Hiro pinned under Duo, who sat straddling his hips once more, towering over him. They were both holding the knife, Hiro's hands clenched tightly over Duo's fists as they fought for dominance over the weapon: Duo pulling the knife towards his body while Hiro tried to pull it away from Duo. Strain was apparent on both their sweaty faces. They groaned and grunted, refusing to lose their grip on the knife.

Moments passed in sheer agony. Hiro felt that he was losing the arm-wrestling match. His arms trembled wildly; sweat poured into his eyes. His struggle was in vain, for Duo was still pointing the blade at his own chest, dominating the bout.

A victorious smirk began twisting Duo's face as he realized that his opponent was losing his strength. He prepared to impale his own heart with the knife, tilting the blade towards his chest once more. Hiro loosened his grip, letting him. Duo smirked. Then, just as he gave the first sign of movement, Hiro tilted Duo's hands down in a sharp angle, shifting his aim towards the abdomen instead. Duo didn't have time to correct his aim, for he had already plunged the knife down. He stabbed himself forcefully in the stomach.

"URGH!" Duo released a throaty, hurting, groan. The knife was lodge in his midsection. He coughed, blood spluttering from his mouth, sheeting down his chin.

"Yoo—durd!" He gurgled disgustingly, sputtering blood. He reached two shaky and bloody hands for the knife and yanked it out. More blood came gushing out of the wound. Duo held the knife in his quivering hands. He raised it up above his head with both arms, screaming, preparing to strike Hiro down.

Hiro lay beneath him and waited for the strike of the blade. He kept his gaze locked with Duo's. His features were calm, his eyes forgiving. In a few moments, it will all be over.

But Duo made no move to stab him. He froze, arms above his head, holding the knife pointed down at Hiro. His upstretched arms trembled strongly. He grimaced, excruciated as he strained against himself, unable to finish what he started. Something inside him was fighting back, refusing to kill Hiro. The inner battle showed clearly on his face, his expression changing rapidly – one second murder burning in his eyes and the next a struggle to stop the killer within him. They battled for the upper hand, fighting over Hiro's life.

Duo was making these horrid gurgling sounds, struggling to breathe over the blood flooding his throat. Fresh streams of tears soaked his bloody face. Suddenly, he stopped. His face cracked with a tragic smile. He let out a choked chuckle, more blood spewed from his mouth.

"Well, this sucks," he burbled in a watery, pitiable, voice, laughing. His eyes closed slowly. He let go of the knife and it fell to the floor. Hiro watched, stunned, as Duo's arms dropped lifelessly at his side and he collapsed on top of him, his head tucked between Hiro's neck and shoulder.

Silence fell.

It took Hiro a moment to realize that he was holding his breath.

A miracle just happened. Duo won; he had won against himself.

Hiro felt the warm touch of tears in the corner of his eyes. He didn't realize he was also crying. He inhaled a long quivering breath, trying to calm his frayed nerves.

Duo lay sprawled on top of him; his dead weight keeping him pinned to the floor. Warm blood was pooling between their two bodies. Hiro held his breath again and counted five heartbeats, trying to feel for a sign of life from Duo. The young man was still breathing; he could feel Duo's breath against his sensitive and sliced neck. Duo was alive and it will be a while before the bleeding would kill him. One could bleed for hours before succumbing to an abdominal injury.

But he didn't have hours. If he were lucky, he had perhaps a few more minutes to save Duo before darkness claimed him as well. He could already feel it creeping in, seeping into his mind little by little. He tried to move, wishing to push Duo's heavy body off of him, but he couldn't. His body refused to listen anymore. It had given up, completely broken down. It was useless. He knew his body; no amount of willpower could help him now, and besides, he didn't think he had it in him anymore to push a little further than what he thought possible. Now that everything was finally over, he had no more fight left in him.

Those were the exact thoughts running through his head moments after Wing ZERO crashed onto the palace and silence engulfed him. He had lain in the ruins of the Brussel's' Presidential Palace for what could have been hours, waiting for death to claim him, when suddenly he found the resolve to move again. Something incredibly powerful and completely irresistible forced him to step out of the damaged cockpit unit and stagger on broken legs into the palace wreckage. His recollections of those excruciating minutes were hazy at best. All he knew for sure was that something inside him had burnt with the urge to stop the killing. Save Relena. Stop the killing. Then rest.

The unwavering resolution wasn't his own, for he had already resigned to die. The ZERO System was what compelled him back into the fight. Before arriving at Brussels, he had waged battle against Wufei, fighting up in the skies above the North Atlantic Ocean in an attempt to convince the renegade pilot that he was fighting for the wrong side. He fought as a reluctant soldier striving to end all fighting, while Wufei claimed the role of an eternal warrior fighting for the right to fight. Unable to get through to the ex-05 pilot with words, he chose to make his point with action instead: he turned off the engines and allowed Wing ZERO to crash into the raging water below.

He remembered the unbearable pressure building up in his ears as he sank into the dark depths of the ocean. He recalled thinking how Earth's oceans were much more fearsome than space. If his Gundam caved under the massive body of water surrounding it, then the small cockpit will flood and he'd die a slow, agonizing death. It would be a much crueler death than being killed in space. Space took your life in a split of a second. The ocean killed slowly by excruciating drowning. It was the only form of death that kept a person alert and aware to the very end, until every last brain cell shut down as it was denied of oxygen. It wasn't a painful death, but the most frightening and helpless one of all.

Nevertheless, he had plunged into the ocean with the intent to break the endless cycle of fighting. He wanted to show Wufei that there was another way out. One didn't have to keep on fighting forever; he was sick and tired of battling against anything and everything. Death was to be his escape.

He sat inside the dark cockpit for hours, waiting for the air to run out so he would die a peaceful death in his sleep, putting an end to his violent life[1]. But ZERO objected. The System overrode his shutdown command and came to life, consoles activating one by one without ever being instructed to do so. ZERO refused to accept his surrender. He was resolved to die so he would be allowed to stop fighting, yet somehow ZERO altered that resolution with its own agenda and sent him back into the fight.

His personal freedom of choice was overruled by a machine. Perhaps it went to show just how weak his determination was in the first place. Hiro now wondered if his own resolve would be enough to brave through his one final mission: could he still push himself beyond what was physically and mentally possible without ZERO's intervention? Could he find it in himself to fight the darkness for a little while longer and save Duo?

He turned his head to the side and looked at his dresser. There was a pile of clothes thrown in a heap on top of it: the suit he had worn to his business meeting a few days ago and the Preventer Class-B uniforms Jerry brought him to the hospital. His cell phone was still in his suit's pocket and Quatre's business card was in the other set of clothes. If he could reach them and call Quatre, then at least he would die knowing that Duo will be shown some mercy.

Groaning painfully, Hiro tried to wriggle out from underneath Duo, but the heftier man was too heavy. He remained pinned under him, panting harshly from his useless efforts. His consciousness crumbled little by little as the darkness advanced upon him; an unstoppable predator. He was dying, fading slowly away into nothing. He longed to simply accept it and let go, but something inside him refused.

_'Hiro...'_ a voice whispered falteringly from within the darkness consuming his mind. _'Hold on.'_

_'Can't...'_ he argued weakly. Even in his own head his voice sounded feeble; beaten to the point of despair. _'Please let me go...'_ He asked just like he had pleaded with Relena before Libra, but the voice in his head refused to release him as she had:

_'No,'_ it said; _'Not yet... Not like this,'_ the voice insisted, refusing to let him rest and compelling him on, just like ZERO did after the crash.

_'Hiro...'_ Duo's voice called desperately in his head; ' _You can't fall at the finish line...'_ he pleaded dimly; he was also fading away. _'Hold on... please... Don't let go just yet...'_

Hiro smiled faintly. This was as farther away from the finish line as he could possibly get, he mused and a sense of serenity coated him pleasantly. He never would have imagined that he would get this far. That was a good thing; his life didn't end up being just about killing. Dr. J never did get his way after all. The old man's sick attempt to divert him from living a normal, quiet life along with people he cared for only lead him down a path towards that very thing. His only wish was that Duo didn't have to be the one to pay the price for the joy he has managed to find in life. He didn't deserve any of it, and that was why he resigned himself to the eventual loss of both joy, and life. He was losing something he didn't deserve in the first place and he hoped that by succumbing to the inevitable, he will somehow ensure Duo's happiness. Perhaps by some miracle Duo will survive, liberated of the disturbing urge to inflict agony. Hiro hoped that by dying, he will free Duo and help him find peace and joy as well.

With that final wish, he raised his only working arm up and wrapped it around Duo, draping it across his bloody back. He remained hugging Duo loosely, hoping that when they will be found in this position, it would be enough to show that he didn't die a victim. He hoped that the gesture would serve as a remembrance to their friendship and a sign that in the end, they somehow managed to overcome J's curse. He wanted people to know that he had died fighting for Duo, not against him.

"I'm sorry... I couldn't... save you..." he whispered so that perhaps the _real_ Duo could somehow hear him, whether the shadow in his head or the man lying on top of him after overcoming the madness. He closed his eyes, releasing a deep breath, and finally succumbed to the persistent darkness eating away at him. Twice he had lived, and twice he had died; now, it was finally time to leave this world behind.

*             *             *

**To be continued in Chapter 16: Grief:**

"Save us..." Duo pleaded, and the line went dead.

Quatre gaped at the phone, stupefied.

oOo

Their eyes met. Jerry's expression fell with sorrow and Marissa's heart clenched painfully. Something terrible has happened to Hiro.

oOo

"He's dead, isn't he?" Duo whispered in a shaky, raspy voice.

"Yes," came a cold, short, reply. Duo recognized the unforgiving tone easily; it was Quatre.

oOo

 

[1] This is a reference to an extra scene from the Endless Waltz movie Special Edition DVD.


	18. Chapter 16: Grief

**One Week 18/21**

**Chapter 16: Grief**

The luxurious Rittenhouse Hotel, located at the heart of Philadelphia's shopping and cultural centers, provided a magnificent sight of the modern cityscape at night. Its sophisticated interior design surrounded guests with a sense of privileged serenity. Beautifully appointed with rich mahogany furnishings and lush fabrics, the expansive halls offered an exceptional level of grandeur. The hotel's conference room, situated on the top floor, overlooked the ancient Rittenhouse Square and surrounding skyscrapers. A long mahogany conference table stood at the center of the room.

Quatre sat at the head of the table, facing the large window. However the young man's eyes weren't directed at the breathtaking view. He was looking down at his tablet computer, while a projector displayed the image on the screen behind him; it was a business presentation, full of graphs and statistics. A dozen formally dressed businessmen sat around the large table, hands crossed over the smooth surface and their strict, impatient glares directed at the young blond man while they waited for him to begin his presentation.

None of the attendees were prepared for the sudden meeting and they were all annoyed with being called to Philadelphia with no early notice, and on a Friday night no less. Since he has already made an unscheduled visit to Earth, Quatre decided to use the opportunity to gather all of his Earth branches' executives in one room. He prepared the meeting in haste, which was why he was rummaging through his notes while his executives scowled at him furiously.

Two hotel maids entered the conference room discretely, carrying a food cart full of beautifully laid out appetizers and beverages. The hotel was also informed of the improvised meeting at the last minute, so the conference room wasn't arranged in advance. The manager even had to call in extra staff so he'll have the manpower to deal with the unexpected guests. The two women entering the room didn't look very pleased by the sudden arrangement and unexpected nightshift; however no one was paying them any attention.

The men around the table ignored the help and the two women arranged the food and drinks on an elegant bar next to the conference table quietly. One of the maids was Marissa. She took a fine-looking crystal water pitcher and began pouring the businessmen a drink, ending with Quatre. He thanked her brusquely, never lifting his eyes off the tablet's screen. Marissa nodded politely and walked away.

"I'll begin with the latest report on our global activities," Quatre finally spoke up, turning to meet his intolerant audience. The two maids left the room and closed the door behind them.

"I think what you'll find interesting is that marginal profits have increased by—" he was interrupted by a ringing mobile phone. "Excuse me," he muttered apologetically and pulled a sleek smartphone device from his suit's pocket. He sighed when he noted it was an unknown number and answered the call, turning slightly away from his audience.

"This is Quatre," he opened curtly; "Who's calling please?"

No reply came from the other end of the line and Quatre frowned, losing his patience.

"Who is this?" he repeated harshly. He could feel everyone's condemning eyes on him. It was hard enough being a young corporate leader in his twenties; he hated giving them further reason to criticize him behind his back.

"Start talking or I'm hanging up," he warned.

Someone was panting heavily on the other side of the line. Thinking he was falling victim to a prank call, Quatre was about to hang up, but then a strange sensation pricked his mind like a sharp needle and stopped him from doing so. He knew the feeling well; his _"spider senses"_ (as a junkie Duo had once dubbed his empathic ability) were tingling.

"Heero?" he ventured a guess and his heart started beating painfully. He was sure it was him; he could sense it. "Heero is that you?"

"Quatre..." a faint voice moaned his name painfully and Quatre's face immediately hardened with fury.

"Duo!" he exclaimed, stunned and outraged. How could he have guessed wrong?!

"Who gave you this number?!" he demanded harshly.

More wheezing came from the other side of the line. Duo sounded like he was in great pain. "...help..." he whispered weakly, barely able to speak. Something wasn't right, Quatre realized, but it wasn't the straining tone in which Duo spoke. It was something... else. He couldn't quite put his finger on it yet.

"Help... Heero... Help him..."

Quatre face blanched with horror as he listened to Duo's plea. Something was very wrong... It wasn't Duo's voice... it was _Heero's_ wavering voice he was hearing!

He clenched his fist around the phone to keep his hand from trembling. He turned away from everyone's prying eyes, leaning into the phone, concealing his mouth with his hand as he spoke.

"Duo?" he dared to whisper, even when he knew he was speaking to Heero. He trusted his uncanny ability to sense these things. He knew what it felt like to speak with Heero, to feel that burning hot beneath all the cold – a distinct bright light shining through darkness. He could still sense it the other night when speaking with Heero for the first time in years; Heero hasn't changed. However, what he was feeling right now wasn't the same – it wasn't Heero. What he was feeling right now was something he hadn't felt in over a decade: a distinctive energy that could only belong to one person and it's been a very long time since he'd sensed that sprightly light bubbling under a deeply scarred surface. He couldn't explain it, but somehow Duo – the part of him that wasn't tainted by darkness – was speaking to him through Heero!

"How is this even possible?!" Quatre bellowed, staggered.

"You tell me, wise-guy..." came a weak reply so typical of the Duo he used to know, yet spoken in Heero's faint voice.

Quatre was shaking. There was no doubt about it; somehow, never mind how, the two were... connected?

"Duo, what happened to Heero?" he asked anxiously.

"I... he... we..." there was a soft sigh; "Duo snapped," Heero – even though it wasn't Heero! – said. "So sorry... he... Heero... can't... he can't... anymore... so I'm... helping him... push... just a little... more..." Heero's voice was faltering feebly; Duo was fading away. "We don't... have... much... time... Help him... Save us..." Duo pleaded, and the line went dead.

Quatre gaped at the phone, stupefied. Slowly, he turned to face his irritated audience. The businessmen around the table were glowering at him furiously; they must have realized that they've flown all the way to Philly for nothing.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled apologetically and stood up, gathering his things off the table hurriedly. "I have to go," he muttered and left the conference room in a rush.

Out in the hallway, the two maids from earlier were just about to enter the elevator with the empty food cart when Quatre ran past them and entered first, pressing the lobby button urgently.

"Sorry!" he called anxiously as the doors closed behind him. The two women shared a criticizing look and shook their heads. Marissa rolled her eyes and muttered: "Pompous ass!"

*             *             *

Although known as a historic city with a rich noble past, on a Friday night Philadelphia's nightlife thrived as any upbeat city. Its diverse bar scene included something for just about everyone: live music clubs, college bars, and dance clubs, dive bars and sports bars and whatnot, along with renowned drinking establishments in the Old City. They were all a perfect place to meet the ladies, however somewhat of a poor choice if you were a former alcoholic.

That didn't stop Preventer agent Gerald Hodgins from trying though. He was standing by a bar in some trendy club bombarded by loud music, politely refusing a drink from a beautiful blonde when his cell phone started ringing. He apologized and took the call.

"Hodgins," he greeted and in less than a moment his face hardened into a harsh glare. "I'll be right there," he said curtly and hung up.

The pretty young blonde gaped in arrogant disbelief as the redheaded man actually walked away in the middle of his flirtations and hurried to leave the bar without a word.

*             *             *

It was five a.m. when Marissa stepped off a bus on the main road and waddled tiredly down the narrow side-street leading to her building. She had just enough time for a quick shower and maybe a short nap before she had to go pick up her son from her mother's place. She wasn't supposed to work this Friday night and her mother was furious that she brought Adriel over without notice. Adriel glared at her when she left him with his grandmother, pouting sulkily. Sometimes her son could be just as difficult as her mother. It was going to be a _long_ weekend. Sighing tiredly, Marissa looked up ahead— and stopped dead in her tracks, gasping.

Preventer patrol cars were parked in front of her building. Siren-lights split the pale pre-dawn illumination in flashes of yellow and green and uniformed officers were rushing about. She spotted Jerry standing by the steps leading up into the building, speaking on his mobile phone. He hung up and then he noticed her standing behind the crowd. Their eyes met. Jerry's expression fell with sorrow and Marissa's heart clenched painfully. Something terrible has happened to Hiro.

*             *             *

Dusk painted the city of Brussels' skies with a coat of pink, purple and golden hues. Ancient stone buildings were engulfed with a blanket of shadows as tall French windows reflected the last few rays of sunshine in a blinding mirror effect. As the sun set slowly in the Belgian horizon, lights were turned on in every window of the ESUN Parliament building which towered proudly over a lush green avenue stretching between the House of Parliament and the Presidential Palace. The view from the top floor was amazing. The large window in one of the more prestige corner-offices provided a breathtaking view of the city at night. It overlooked the garden, where a row of stone water fountains stretched along the avenue connecting the Parliament to the Palace. The fountains were beautifully illuminated at night; water splashed merrily, glimmering like vibrant jewels under the soft display of yellow, green, blue and purple lights.

Sitting at her desk, her back turned to the window while she sat facing the large office, ESUN Senator Relena Darlian paid no heed to the view. Engrossed in paperwork, she sat before a small mountain of papers piled on her desk. Dressed in an elegant black business suit, her dishwater-blond hair meticulously gathered into a conservative hairdo and her face carefully made-up, the young woman seemed grown beyond her twenty seven years of age. The stern expression on her face only added to her matured appearance, but it was not something she appreciated. The premature loss of her youth was a touchy subject most were wise to avoid.

Over a decade has passed since she was known to the world as the lost princess Sanc, or the so-called _"Queen of the World"_. She was no longer the naïve and idealistic girl she used to be. The complex ESUN political world was an arena far more treacherous and demanding than any battlefield she had faced boldly and foolishly all those years ago. It changed her; it hardened her heart and some would even say that it had turned her cold. One had to be strong to survive in the political world; she did what she had to do in order to advance her agendas and preserve her convictions, all the while trying to distance herself from her past image. The principle of total pacifism and the preservation of peace were still her prime goals, though she knew better than to support initiatives like the Complete Disarmament Clause and its likes. Experience has taught her that weapons were still necessary to guard the peace; that an army for defensive purposes was better than no army at all.

Instead of irrationally crying out for overall pacifism, Relena tried to guard the peace by sponsoring initiatives that would better the lives of ESUN and Colony citizens. Ventures such as the Mars Terraforming Project will ensure financial security and domestic security for many. If people were pleased with their way of life and secured about their livelihood, then they would have no need for war. She worked hard to encourage the ESUN's financial support to underprivileged space colonies, such as in the L2 cluster. Her work took her around the world and across the vast expanses of space. It was a demanding job, but one she couldn't live without.

Looking up from her desk, Relena gazed ahead at the campaign signs lying against the office's right wall, waiting for her approval before public display. She didn't have the time to take a proper look at them yet, she was too busy with other pressing issues, always bouncing between mundane assignments and advancing her campaign. She briefly skimmed over a few posters:

**Darlian for Presidency – One World, One Voice**

**Darlian – Bridging the Gaps**

**Darlian – For a Peaceful Solution**

**Relena Darlian – For Humanity as Whole**

Her expression soured with disdain. She shifted her eyes to the other side of the room, where her leading opponent's posters were also displayed for comparison. One sign caught her eye: _'Dorothy T. Catalonia – A Leader, For a Change'_. It was a damn good slogan, and it pissed her off.

The phone on her desk rang loudly, tearing the comfortable twilight silence with an annoying shriek. Ignoring it, Relena allowed it to ring for a while before answering it with annoyance:

"What is it, Clarence?" she snapped at her assistant; "I asked not to transfer any calls tonight. As far as you know, I'm not here." Considering it was the weekend, Relena was hoping to spend a quiet evening for a change. She would have gone home to her stylish penthouse, but the office felt more like home anyway. Besides, she didn't have to feel so bad about her solitude if she was at the office. Her assistant probably didn't appreciate being torn away from her family on a Saturday night, but quite frankly, Relena didn't give a damn.

"I'm sorry Senator Darlian," the young assistant hurried to say as she picked up on the Senator's foul mood; "but this is urgent. I have Agent Hodgins on the line. He says he must speak with you."

Alarmed, Relena straightened in her seat. Something must be terribly wrong if Jerry was breaching protocol and calling her personally. She made a quick calculation and surmised that it was about ten a.m. on a Saturday morning in Philadelphia. A thousand and one tragic possibilities flashed through her mind. The last time Jerry had called her directly was to inform her that Heero had suffered a stroke due to his excessive drinking. That was almost six years ago. Since then Jerry has been supplying her with monthly written reports that grew duller and duller as the years went by. Heero had settled into a fairly ordinary life and that was all she truly needed to know in order to keep her conscience clean.

When it came to Heero, Relena carried an enormous amount of guilt in her heart; shame for her betrayal and abandonment of the most exceptional person she ever met. Even now, ten years later, she was still haunted by the image of his broken and mangled body lying motionless on a sterile hospital bed. Her heart clenched painfully when she reflected on his miserable state during the first few months after the brain injury. Closing her eyes, she could visibly remember his shameful frailty, how he had crumbled before her very eyes, reduced to a pitiful and helpless boy rather than the strong and unyielding soldier she had fallen in love with.

Unable to face the horror of his wretchedness, she had turned away from him, entrusting him in the care of strangers; strangers who later on became his new family. Leaving him was a cowardly, disgraceful and childish act that shamed her deeply to this day. She never forgave herself for abandoning Heero, or for losing him to another woman. In the end he had benefitted from her abandonment, which perhaps was what hurt her the most. Deep down she knew that she never could have offered him what _that_ woman had and she hated herself for it.

In an attempt to ease the unbearable burden, Relena had to be continuously reassured that she had done the right thing and that Heero was better off without her. During his time at the rehabilitation ward, she was able to inquire about his condition, as part of her rights as his legal guardian. However, two years later, when Heero was finally discharged from the ward, she was released from her duty as his legal guardian, since the man had been deemed mentally capable to care for his own interests. Once she no longer had the right to check up on him, Relena used her pull at Preventer to request that an agent will report to her about Heero's life. It was a semi-criminal request, one she was able to get away with only because of the pretense that she was keeping track of a former Gundam pilot. Knowing that Heero was managing on his own helped her sleep better at night, and as much as she hated to admit it, when it came down to it – that was all she cared for; she could not afford to lose sleep over him anymore.

She often dreamed of apologizing to Heero and as fate would have it, she eventually ran into him. As expected, the encounter was nothing like what she dreamed it would be. Her duties took her to New York City a few of years back. Once her business was over, she headed to the airport to catch a private flight to her next destination. Stepping out of a black executive car in front of the terminal, she suddenly spotted a familiar mop of chocolate-brown hair in the horde heading into JFK's Departures Terminal. He had just stepped out of a yellow cab, wearing a plain black business suit and holding a black leather briefcase. She could only see him from behind, but by the way her heart had begun to dance in a familiar wild beat, she instantly knew: she was actually running into Heero in a faceless crowd!

Much to her bodyguard's surprise, she opened in a sprint, wobbling towards the familiar figure on a pair of ridiculously high heels. _'Heero!'_ she had called, panting, and he slowly turned towards the sound of her voice. She halted abruptly, breathless. They stood a few good feet apart, standing still within a moving mass of people.

The last few years since his recovery have been kind. Last she had seen him he had been a quivering, semi-bald boy struggling against uncoordinated movements, slurred speech, drool and endless tears. Now he was a man, and a fetching one at that. And there he was – looking straight at her with the most stunning blue eyes she could ever recall seeing. His presence was intense; she could physically feel it, even from the small distance separating them. He stood rigidly, gazing at her silently from behind a pair of thinly framed black eyeglasses. He seemed so grown-up, distinguished and most of all stunning. Something inside of her twisted sourly at the sight of him; she felt cheated out of something she didn't even deserve.

The magic of the moment faded quickly, much like she knew it would. Heero waited for her quietly until she approached. She stood before him, at a loss for words now that she was finally in his electrifying presence. There was so much she wanted to say, so much she wanted to explain and apologize for, but the conversation had been brisk. Heero had been polite, if a bit cold. He didn't spared her much of his time, saying that he had a flight to catch. She asked him to stay a while longer, to talk over coffee. She promised that she would see to it that he would be on a flight home later on, even if she had to use her private jet to get him there. He refused, claiming that he had an important engagement back in Philadelphia.

That was when she made her next fatal mistake and exposed yet another wrong she had done him. So thrilled to have finally met him, she had let her guard down and accidently let it slip that she knew that he was heading back to Adriel's fifth birthday. He seemed a bit too eager to get home and, knowing what she knew about his life, it wasn't hard to conclude that he wanted to be there in time for his son's birthday party.

Heero was appalled that she knew about his illegitimate son; she could clearly see the alarm in his eyes as his expression hardened with anger and distrust. In that very moment, Relena realized that she had just ruined any remote chance she might have had of reconciling with Heero. They parted ways in front of the airport, never to see each other again.

Sighing dolefully, Relena shook her head with despair. Her personal assistant was still on the other side of the line, waiting for her to accept Jerry's call.

"Patch him through," she ordered urgently.

"Yes ma'am."

Relena waited impatiently for the call to connect. She tapped with her pen against her desk, restless as she listened to the annoying music on hold. Once the call was finally transferred and she spun her desk chair around to glare out the window.

"Jerry," she greeted snippily; "What the Hell were you thinking, calling my office?!" she demanded and tapped with her pen on the armrest impatiently while listening to the Preventer agent. Gradually, her tapping slowed until it stopped completely. Her back went rigid.

"What official business?" she burst heatedly; "This was never official! If this thing leaks out it will _ruin_ me—" She fell abruptly silent. Whatever the agent was saying caught her attention. She calmed down and listened. The color gradually drained from her cheeks. She got up slowly, pressing the phone to her ear.

"What?!" she hissed in alarm; "What do you mean Heero's _gone?!_ Gone where?!" she demanded and then quieted down while she listened to Jerry explain. Her expression numbed, turning stony. Her shoulders slumped down miserably.

"Oh..." she mumbled, stupefied. She took a deep breath, trying to keep cool; "You mean he's... but... how... I mean, who...... when?" she finally managed to muffle something coherent. Her mind had gone completely numb. She stood before the large window behind her desk, looking out at the nightly view and listened to Jerry's reply.

"W-whose blood? How much is a lot? Maybe it's not..." Her face paled with horror. "I... I see," she mumbled thoughtfully; "Well how long would that take? I mean, there might be a chance that—" she was cut off by Jerry. Gazing sorrowfully down at the illuminated water fountains in the garden below, Relena listened to the Preventer agent for a while longer.

"Duo?!" she suddenly exclaimed; "Why didn't you report this sooner?!" She listened some more, her face turning red. "No, no! Don't make an even bigger mess out of this. The last thing we need is a scandal on our hands!"

Releasing another long, hopeless, sigh, Relena sat back down and spun her chair to face the desk again, listening to Jerry the whole while.

"Of course Quatre is behind this!" she grunted; "but you won't get a thing out of him. I can't afford to go after the Winners so close to the campaign."

She listened to Jerry for a few seconds before interjecting furiously: "I don't care, Jerry! Heero's _gone_ and Duo can go to Hell for all I care! Don't ever contact me again!"

She slammed the receiver down forcefully and the anger drained from her body, leaving it numb. She continued gazing dully at the phone for long moments after the call was over. Slowly, she shifted her eyes to look up at the large floor-to-ceiling bookcase standing opposite of her desk. Among the thick dusty books, sat a small, ragged old teddy bear – the present Heero gave her on her sixteenth birthday. She stared at it dazedly for a long while, until she finally stood up and walked slowly towards the bookcase. She reached an uncertain hand towards the small bear, hesitant to touch the sacred memento; the only keepsake she had of Heero. Carefully, she took it off the shelf and cradled the small stuffed toy in her arms. She gazed at it wistfully and turned back to the window, holding the bear in her arms.

She stood by the large window and stared ahead at the ESUN Presidential Palace standing proudly at the other end of the long avenue below. It was rebuilt to look exactly the same as the previous palace that was destroyed by Wing ZERO's powerful beam-cannon, by Heero, just before he crashed and injured his head in a way that changed him forever. She watched the palace in contemplative silence, reminiscing about a time long ago, when she was but a naïve teenage girl in love with the idea of an invincible hero capable of realizing both her personal and political dreams. She recalled how she had stood by a similar window, in that very palace, looking up at the stars and waiting for Heero to come to her rescue like some helpless damsel in distress. She believed in him with all her heart; she truly thought that they were made for each other: she, the lost princess of a devastated kingdom and he: a lonely little prince who fell from the heavens.

Of course, Heero soon turned out to be nowhere as innocent and tender as the Little Prince she had read about as a child, but at the tender age of fifteen she was still eager to believe that he could encompass all of her hopes and dreams; she believed that he could save the world from war, and that she could save him from himself and redeem his tortured soul. That was nothing more than a foolish wish of a child born with a silver spoon in her mouth. Relena felt so removed from that girl who once stood passively by that window, waiting for her knight in a shining Gundanium armor. Following Heero into all four corners of the Earth and Space taught her valuable lessons. It prepared her for the role she chose to play after Heero had realized the peace she sought. If not for him, she probably would have remained that spoiled, detached, heedless girl who was sick of her way of life but cared little for changing it. Before Heero, she cared for nothing at all, but thanks to him she had learned to dream; she found an ambition, a cause to care and fight for – a dream to fulfill on her own. In that youthful dream, she had even fallen in love with him.

Sighing heavily, Relena looked down at the bear in her hands. Regret gleamed faintly in her blue eyes; the first traces of tears. She closed her eyes sadly, hugging the small teddy-bear close to her heart.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Quatre," she whispered sadly, and turned away from the window.

*             *             *

Half a world away, Jerry hung up the call and tucked his cell phone into his uniform's pocket. The red-bearded agent was standing by a one-way mirror looking into an interrogation room at the Preventer Philadelphian Field Office. Inside the room, sitting on a chair by a single table, was Quatre R. Winner. The blond businessman was dressed in the same dark suit he had worn to the meeting at the Rittenhouse Hotel the night before. His tie was undone and the white collar of his shirt was stained with bright smears of blood, as were the white cuffs around his sleeves. He was looking ahead passively, his composed expression giving away nothing.

Jerry sighed and stepped into the room, holding the door open. Quatre looked up; his face was a mask of stone, looking as though he was ready for any sentence the Preventer agent was going to deliver.

"You're free to go," Jerry grumbled, gesturing at the doorway with his head. "Be sure to thank your _friends in high places_."

Quatre did not look surprised. He stood up slowly and walked to the door. Just as he was about to step out of the interrogation room, Jerry stopped him, grabbing the shorter man by his forearm. Quatre whirled his head up to glare at the taller agent.

"I know you're behind this," Jerry hissed dangerously, "and what _pisses me off_ is that you're not even trying to hide it, you _arrogant prick!_ Maybe I can't press any charges against you, but I will tell you this, _asshole_ : his blood is on _your_ hands _,_ " he said and tugged at Quatre's bloody sleeve. "I don't care what kind of connections you have with the Bureau, I'll get you for this. You're not a Gundam pilot anymore. You can't take the law into your own hands. You can't play God anymore."

Standing his ground, Quatre merely studied the agent quietly for a moment. Then he yanked his blood-stained arm out of Jerry's grasp, his eyes glaring at the agent fiercely.

"I beg to differ," he stated coldly, and walked away.

*             *             *

A soccer game played on the screen of a small television set. The image of bright green grass stretched across the wide screen and illuminated a dark room with an eerie shade of phosphorus green. Two teams in colorful uniforms ran around the field, chasing a damn ball like a bunch of excited puppies. The light pouring from the screen was the only source of illumination inside a small room.

Duo lay on his back in a hospital bed, propped up comfortably. His right arm rested in a sling while his shoulder healed from the stab wound Heero inflicted above his right shoulder blade. His features were pale and bruised; thick stitches ran across his left temple where Heero had hit him with a tablet computer, gashing his head. The worse of his injuries were hidden beneath the thin hospital gown and blanket, where bandages were wrapped around his stomach, concealing more nasty stitches holding his flesh together after abdominal surgery. An IV line ran into his uninjured arm, feeding him fluids and morphine to fight off the pain throbbing dully in his belly.

He lay motionless, supported slightly up, staring numbly at the screen hanging on the opposite wall. His eyes followed the players lazily as they chased the ball around the field, making repetitive useless attempts to score a goal. He didn't even like soccer, but he knew Heero enjoyed watching it with his son, so he watched as well. He wasn't sure why, but it made him feel a bit better, like if he watched instead of Heero it would somehow make up for the fact that Heero couldn't watch his favorite team play the semifinals. For what it was worth, he was trying to live for three now.

Two days passed since he woke up in this secluded hospital room. At first he was too sluggish to comprehend where he was, but when the drug-induced haze cleared, he came to realize that he was no longer on Earth. There were hints that only a Colonist who had spent much time on Earth could pick up on, such as the subtle staleness in the air, the delicate vibration of the Colony's massive structure as it rotated slowly, the faint hum of the life support systems and the nearly indistinguishable variation in the way objects and people carried themselves in an artificial-gravity environment.

Only doctors entered his room. They checked on him every now and then, administering their treatment and then leaving him to brood in silence. Hardly any words were spoken to him. One doctor asked him a few questions when he first woke up, just to make sure that he was alright. He asked him to sit up and was promised a drink of water if he succeeded. Sitting up hurt like a bitch. He managed a few sips of water before he was attacked by a terrible nausea. The doctors denied him any solid foods until they confirmed some substantial bowel-movements, which Duo figured was never going to happen if the only thing they kept feeding him was _soup_. In any case, aside from filling him in on his recovery, the medical staff carried on in pure silence.

It was maddening. He was left alone with his thoughts, and the only thoughts he was capable of took him back to MO2. Repressed memories were finally coming back to him, revealing slowly like defrosting rotten corpses uncovered in an L2 back-alley as the colony's Spring Cycle approached. Horrible visions haunted him day and night. Each time he closed his eyes, even just to blink, he was back in that cursed room – Eddy's Room – the place where he had lost his sanity and his soul in an unforgivable act of sodomy and desecration; a crime he had committed against the only person he allowed himself to get close to since losing his home at the Maxwell Church.

Images kept flashing randomly in his mind, assaulting him with impossible visions: Heero's tear-streaked face, the horror in his pained blue eyes, the blood gushing from the wound in his groin... They were lurid sights, hideous and surreal, as though taken straight out of a madman's twisted nightmare. He didn't feel like he was remembering a personal experience. It was as if the memories belonged to someone else and he was only a reluctant witness to horrors from behind a stranger's eyes. He wanted to keep telling himself that the memories weren't real, to dismiss them as a sick dream as he did before, but he could not rid himself of the irksome feeling of shame and forbiddance sweltering in his heart. What happened on MO2 was _real_ ; there was no denying it anymore.

Nighttime was worse. In his sleep, the horrid sights were accompanied by sounds: Heero's pitiful implores, his useless struggle to talk him out of the madness... His broken sobs and whimpers, his anguished moaning and horrified screams... He had cried until his voice was worn-out and raspy, yet his anguished wailing didn't cease until his voice faded away completely.

A chilling recollection from that horrible night haunted his dreams; the moment Heero shattered. He recalled flipping him over and pulling him up by his naked waist. Heero broke into tears then, sobbing like a helpless child. He had witnessed much suffering, but he had never heard such hopeless and anguished weeping in his life. It was a cry of lost innocence, the desecration of something beautiful and pure. He had destroyed Heero's fragile heart in a sinful act of mad, violent, lust; a sort of darkness he didn't even know he had in him. Everything inside him burnt painfully and then crumbled to dust as he thought back to that night; the night he had raped his closest friend.

Heero was only sixteen at the time, and sixteen was young; very young, no matter how hard they tried to convince themselves otherwise, thinking their role in the war entitled them as adults. They thought they were all grown-up, but they weren't even close. Twelve years and many tribulations later, Duo was wise enough to acknowledge that they were nothing but childrenback then; children fighting a war.

That stupid slut Anya was also a spoiled, entitled brat who thought herself an adult. She thought she could handle men – thought she could handle _him_ – and that cocky attitude led to her demise. Heero was far from brash, but just like her, at sixteen, he was still very inexperienced in the ways of the world yet thought he knew better. But all he knew was his training, his life as a soldier, and all he ever believed in was _The Cause_. Then, when he finally decided to follow his heart and also believe in a fellow human being, to put his trust in a _friend_ , that act of juvenile innocence became his undoing.

Thus began his path of endless sinning; starting with Heero, then Anya, then Ali and ending with Heero – again. His crimes were of unexplained lust and hate; a darkness that consumed all reason, leaving his sanity buried under piles of shameful primal urges. What in God's name possessed him to commit such foul iniquity?

His aching, throbbing, stomach gurgled and turned with a persistent sickness that had little to do with his recent surgery. It was a permanent nausea he felt since he awoke in his isolated hospital room. Duo was utterly disgusted with himself. He was guilty of grave mortal sins, crimes punishable by death according to his newly found Catholic faith. He had killed and he had raped... he was the ultimate sinner, undeserving of redemption, yet Heero tried to offer it nonetheless. That was what sickened him the most. He didn't deserve Heero's absolution. He didn't want Heero to take responsibility for his madness; he didn't want to be another cause for which Heero chose to sacrifice himself. He came to Heero for help, but he didn't even consider that this offer of assistance will be the last thing Heero would do for him...

"Oh God..." Duo moaned and covered his face with his hands; but he couldn't hide, not from the condemning, all-knowing eyes of his Lord. Why was it that he never felt God's presence while committing a sin, but only afterwards, when guilt was eating away at his heart? Is that what God was – remorse, the aftermath of a crime? What kind of a God overlooked the terrible, hateful, shameful actions of his creations and his presence was only acknowledged when a sinner was in need for redemption or punishment? That never made sense to him, not while living at the Church and listening to Father Maxwell's sermons and not even now, when he actually allowed himself to believe.

Father Maxwell spoke of a God who was benevolent and merciful, yet it was the same God who allowed the Church and the children to be slaughtered in an insane, brutal massacre; the same God who even allowed his own _son_ to be brought to death, crucified for his goodness and his faith. The way Duo saw it, God was a selfish being who chose to ignore the sorrow of Man. Why, even the first four of His Ten Commandments had to do with worshiping the Almighty rather than mans' sins towards his fellow man; if that wasn't selfish, nothing was.

The Lord Jesus was more thoughtful than His Father. He preached about the last six Commandments, the ones that told people to do no harm to fellow human beings, but at the same time He had said that the only good was _God_ and the only way to aspire to be as _good_ as He was, was to keep the Commandments. Duo used to think of it as nothing more than bullshit propaganda. God himself allowed the Commandments to be broken; He allowed and disregarded acts of murder, theft, deception and adultery.  
He didn't even include rape or sodomy in His precious Commandments. God only seemed to care for punishing people for idolatry and blasphemy – for crimes committed against _Him_ rather than fellow men. It didn't get any more egotistic than that.

He remembered Father Maxwell teaching them all about Jesus' Sermon on the Mountain. He told then that Jesus wanted them to _"be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect"_ , but that was a dirty lie! If being _perfect_ meant being as arrogant, negligent and disregarding as God, then he would rather live the life of a sinner estranged from his Maker. For years he refused to put his faith in a being so unworthy of his devotion, until the priest he met in prison made him see that it all came down to freedom of choice. God could not be responsible for the actions of every single one of his creations. That was why he had given man the freedom to choose for himself, the choice to do right or wrong. Punishment only came in the afterlife and until then people could do as they pleased – rape, murder, cheat, steal and worse. That was why horrible tragedies were allowed to happen; why genocide and war seethed through history like a destructive swarm of locus. And that was why he was allowed to walk the path of a sinner. According his priest in prison, he was responsible for every single wicked deed he had committed against God's teachings.

He was responsible for Ali taking his own life.

He was responsible for killing Anya.

He was responsible for raping Heero.

He was responsible for butchering hundreds in acts of terrorism and war.

Duo's eyes flooded with tears. He did nothing to resist them and allowed them to spill freely from his eyes. He was willing to acknowledge those four horrible facts. What he refused to accept was the notion that he had been given a choice, because he hadn't. God cheated him of a choice and left him only with the crime. He didn't choose to kill Anya; why would he? He certainly didn't choose to hurt Heero the way he had... why would he ever want to desecrate someone like that?!

Where was his freedom of choice then? Where was God then?! Was he unworthy of a chance to do well by Him? Was God so keen on seeing him burn in the fires of Hell that he would rob him of a choice?

A small whimper forced itself out of Duo's chapped lips. He turned to his side, despite the pain pounding deep within the core of his body, and curled into a fetal position. Short and persistent surges of agony shot out from his center to the rest of his body as he drew his knees up to his chest, putting unnecessary pressure on his healing abdomen. He ignored the pain and remained folded into a miserable human ball. He buried his head under the blanket.

There was a large part of him that ached to offer a prayer for Heero, to beg God for His divine mercy – if there was such a thing – but an even larger part of him felt that it was nothing but a false urge to hold onto something he didn't believe in wholeheartedly. He wasn't sure if God was even capable of bestowing mercy, especially on the likes of him.

His faith was flimsy; too easily dismissed when bitterness took over his heart. It was so easy to believe when he felt rewarded for his faith, when he believed that his new devotion to God had earned him a surprise "Get out of Jail Free Card". As soon as things stopped working as he had hoped they would, his heart once again flooded with blasphemous contempt. Even if he could find it in him to offer an honest prayer, God will probably have a good laugh at his expense. Duo feared that he would end up feeling foolish for his empty prayers, yet he secretly hoped that thinking about it was enough, and if there was indeed a merciful God out there, He was listening. Maybe God knew that when it came to Heero, his heart was true and his intentions pure: all he wanted was for Heero to survive.

The door to his room opened and then closed with a soft _'click'_. Duo froze, his sobs lodged in his throat as he forced himself to stop crying. He remained hidden under the blanket, listening carefully. No one was approaching the bed. Suddenly the TV was switched off and the room fell dark and silent. There was no movement and Duo was beginning to feel anxious. He didn't dare to raise his head from the blanket. His heart pounded strongly in his chest. Even without peeking out of the blanket, he knew who just entered the room: God's circumstantial apostle, coming to confirm that his secret prayer has been heard, and God was laughing His lungs out...

"He's dead, isn't he?" Duo whispered in a shaky, raspy voice.

"Yes," came a cold, short, reply. Duo recognized the unforgiving tone easily; it was Quatre. It was only fair that God would choose Quatre as the bearer of bad news; there was a certain poetic justice in this.

"But... didn't you have the means to help him..?" he whispered shakily under the blanket, his voice small, wounded. Silent tears were running freely down his pale cheeks. "Isn't that why you dragged us all the way up here..?"

He heard Quatre release a quiet sigh. "By the time we reached L4 it was too late," he explained solemnly. "Heero wasn't a healthy man. He didn't stand much of a chance against you. He had suffered both congestive heart failure and a stroke when you attacked him. There was nothing my men could do for him. He had already slipped into a coma when I came for the two of you, and finally passed away last night."

Duo shuddered, taken over by a terrible cold; an inner chill that ran straight to his bones.

"So... Heero's... _gone_?" he cried pathetically, trembling under the blanket. Sobs were clawing their way up his raw throat and he couldn't fight them anymore. He released a mournful whimper, shaking his head against the pillow repeatedly until the blanket tangled around his head. There was no denying the finality of the words he just spoke. Heero was gone. God was having the last laugh, but it wasn't fair towards Heero! After everything Heero had been through, after all the harsh punishments he had endured, after all the courageous _miracles_ he had performed, he died a weary, defeated man who willingly chose to wither away, suffering an illness that could have been cured if not for his fear of reliving his painful past; the insufferable punishment he himself had inflicted on Heero in a fit of pure, dark, indescribable madness.

Heero _chose_ to die because of him. It all made sense now, Duo thought sadly as he recalled Heero's last conversation with his doctor, a conversation he had eavesdropped on from outside the door. Heero chose to surrender to the tumors in his head because he didn't wish to lose a different battle – the struggle to put MO2 behind him. He feared losing control over his mind if he allowed the doctor to operate on him. He chose death over dealing with the nightmare once more. Heero feared he would lose the mental defenses he had built against him, the same defenses that allowed him to keep going all these years, the same defenses that made him strong enough to face him on that horrible night a few days ago... the night Heero chose to sacrifice his life for the sake of Duo's sanity. And now, with his sanity finally restored, Duo wished for the blissful ignorance to be returned to him, for the madness to take away remorse and pain. Heero gave him back his mind, but in return his heart and his faith have been broken, shattered beyond repair with the inconceivable knowledge that he had butchered his only friend.

Grief and anguish burnt in his chest. Overwhelmed by a deep sense of horrid understanding, Duo began hyperventilating, sniffling, sobbing and panting harshly at the same time.

"Oh God..." he cried in a series of panicked hiccups. He was shaking like a leaf under the blanket. "I killed him... Oh God... I killed Heero..." he wailed brokenly, wavering with self-abhor.

"Yes, you did," Quatre confirmed coldly; "Perhaps now you'll know some of the grief you brought on my family."

"Oh god... Heero had a family too..." Duo wept, horrified by the realization. "Oh God..." he howled sorrowfully, trying to suppress the sounds of anguish begging to burst from his throat, but failing to stop the helpless moans.

"What have I done? Oh God... Heero... Oh no... shit, no... Oh God, please no..."

In the end, his faith and his God still existed in his empty prayers; there was no one else to turn to in his hopelessness. He knew that no mercy will be shown, yet he cried God's name in vain over and over again.

Standing by the closed door, Quatre bowed his head down courteously, looking away as Duo fell apart, veiled under a thin blue blanket. The fabric was not enough to conceal his anguish. His trembling form could still be seen and his sorrowful, aching sobs clearly heard.

After a while Duo calmed and his sobs were replaced by quiet sniffling. He shifted the blanket aside, peeking out. His dreadful gaze searched for Quatre's condemning eyes.

"What happens now?" he whispered quietly, his voice childlike and small.

Quatre looked up again, his expression stern, guarded. "One of two things," he said slowly; "I either hand you over to Preventer and we both face the consequences of this mess, or we settle things between us."

"You'd do that for me?" Duo asked almost hopefully. Perhaps salvation lay with Quatre rather than with God. He had a choice now. Duo knew what had to be done.

The blond businessman nodded slowly. "I can make sure you'll have a comfortable life, away from society."

Duo dropped his gaze to the floor, thinking.

"You might stand a better chance in court," Quatre started to say, but Duo cut him in:

"I don't deserve a better chance _or_ a comfortable life... I don't deserve life at all!" he cried and looked up again, his eyes filling with more bitter tears. "He was a good man, yanno? Better than most people... better than me, that's for sure. He was always trying to be even better... to be something more. That was all he really wanted, you know? To be more than what people told him he should be... He thought he was some _dog_... He wanted to be human, so much...

"Even after all his training 'n shit, he was still so naïve, yanno? He didn't know any better... It was all so new to him. He tried to hide it, but I could tell. He was lost. He didn't know how things worked in the real world. I wanted so much to be his guide... I thought... Oh God... I dunno. I thought I could make amends by helping him... but I just screwed him over! Heero didn't deserve what I did to him... none of it! He really thought he could trust me. He knew where I came from and what I've done... he knew fucking _everything_ and he still chose me as his only friend. He had something real pure in him, something that kept him kind despite everything and... and I...  I hurt him, Quatre... I hurt him real bad. I hurt him but he took me in anyway. I bet it hurt him so much to have me around, but he took me in anyway – the stupid bastard! He knew he shouldn't keep me as his friend! He knew it, and he said it, but he still couldn't help playing the God damned martyr!" Duo sobbed and buried his face in his hands, whimpering desperately. "Oh God, Heero... I'm so sorry... Oh shit... I'm so sorry..."

Quatre stared mutely at the shattered young man. He considered telling Duo about the way Heero stood up for him during the short interrogation at Preventer, how he refused to hand him over. Despite the wrong Duo had done to Heero, in spite of Duo's belief that Heero shouldn't consider him a friend, Quatre knew that Heero had been a loyal friend to the very end. He got the impression that Heero was very protective of the ex-02 pilot, regardless of Duo's claim that he had hurt him terribly.

He couldn't fathom why, but he had sensed Heero's strong commitment to Duo, his sense of duty and responsibility for the deranged young man. There was something dark and painful motivating those feelings; Quatre could detect that much, but Heero guarded those reasons well, even from his extraordinary perception. It was a secret that cast a tremendous shadow over Heero's mind, influencing his every thought and action. Telling Duo this would certainly cause him more grief and add to his pain, but Quatre couldn't bring himself to inflict any further abuse. He personally came to tell Duo of Heero's passing so he could get the satisfaction of witnessing Duo's grief, to see him shrivel under the same kind of anguish he had inflicted on his close family, but now that he was bearing witness to such pain, Quatre regretted his selfish actions. He left the room quietly, leaving Duo to his mourning.

Duo remained lying curled on the bed, sobbing brokenly into the night.

*             *             *

As the clock struck midnight, the great halls of Saint Gabriel's Church stood silent and empty. Candles still burnt at the altar and illuminated the large structure dimly. The benches were empty of visitors, except for one. Marissa sat in the empty pew in front of the altar, looking numbly at the multitude of flames. A large and hefty bag lay at her feet. A few artifacts peeked out of it, such as the edges of a silver photo-frame and a plain brown shoebox. They were keepsakes she had collected from Hiro's apartment. In her hand she held the most treasured item of all: Hiro's black eyeglasses. She held onto them tightly as she gazed at the flames burning at the altar.

Nearly a month went by since the terrible morning she came home from work and discovered that Hiro was taken away from her. He was gone; just like that. Of course Duo also vanished, leaving only hurt and chaos in his wake. Jerry said that there won't even be an investigation; those were his orders. Hiro was gone, his pet butchered, his apartment was in ruins and traces of his blood still stained the carpet in the hallway, and yet no one cared. Somehow life went on; a faithless, empty kind of life: a life without Hiro.

She never thought she'd feel so hollow without him. She simply went through the motions, performing one daily chore after the other, and waited for the day to end so she could find sanctuary in slumber. Sometimes he waited in her sleeping refuge; for a few precious moments, it was like he was never gone.

Adriel's seventh birthday was just around the corner, about to remind her that Hiro won't be there to celebrate with them. She had booked a place for the party months in advance and she didn't have the heart to cancel. Hiro helped her pay for the party. He also left her enough money to buy their son presents from the both of them, but he won't be there to see his son's face light up as he receives the gift she had chosen on his behalf. Adriel wasn't in the mood for gifts anyway. His little heart was crushed by betrayal, unable to grasp the reason behind Hiro's absence. School started a few weeks ago and Adriel could no longer spend the afternoon with Hiro as his caretaker, rather he had to spend each day with his resentful grandmother. The little boy was simply heartbroken, believing that he was no longer wanted by the man who took care of him on a daily basis for as long as he could remember.

She couldn't bring herself to tell Adriel the truth and break his heart further. She kept lying to her son, making excuses for Hiro, trying to shield him from the kind of pain she was experiencing. She was stalling for time, waiting until she could finally bring herself to speak the truth. Somehow, lying to Adriel made her feel a little better, like there was still hope, like it was all a big mistake and that Hiro will return any day now. But the weeks went by one by one, and he was still gone. She clung to hope desperately, but with each passing day it became harder and harder to keep the faith. Hopelessness opened a black hole in her heart. Hiro left such void behind him... such emptiness. And life went on.

September's rent was long overdue and the landlord finally worked up the nerve to ask her to pack Hiro's belongings. He wanted to start renovating the apartment as soon as possible, having little regard to her feelings on the matter. He didn't know that she was more than just a friendly next-door neighbor and even when she pleaded with him to wait just a few more weeks he refused, arguing that Hiro has been gone for long enough and that he was losing money over good urban real-estate. Hence, Marissa spent her entire day-off in Hiro's apartment, packing. Preventer had long swept the place clean of anything they deemed as evidence, including the mess left in her own apartment and out in the hall. Yet indication of what has been done to Hiro still remained: His living room window was still broken. Blood was still smeared on the floor of his apartment and out in the hallway-carpeting. There were clawing marks on the plaster wall by the elevator that brought tears to her eyes each time she saw them. She had asked the landlord to fix the scarring on the wall numerously, but it was taking him forever.

She did her best to ignore the blood by the bed while emptying Hiro's nightstand and dresser. She threw away the various medications she found stored in his night table; he won't need them anymore. She then turned to the task of packing his clothes, all carefully folded, into plastic bags. She decided to give them away to charity, but not just yet. It was too soon. They still smelled of him; a familiar combination of musky laundry softener and the persistent fragrance of his pleasant cologne no amount of laundry could erase after years of use. She had picked him a bottle of CK a few years back as a Christmas gift and he had continued using the brand out of habit. He was practical that way.

Holding onto a neatly folded shirt, she fondly recalled how he detested shopping for clothes, and a small smile crept up her lips as she realized that most of the clothes he owned were garments he bought when she insisted that they go shopping, for she couldn't stand to see him wear the same outfits year after year. He would argue that they were still good and useful, but she would insist that he'd freshen up his wardrobe anyway.

She also found his eyeglasses on the night table by the bed. They were simply lying there over an open book. Gazing at them lengthily, she felt overcome with sadness. They seemed so fragile and alone... abandoned in a world without him. It hurt so much to look at mere traces of a person who's been a part of her daily life for so long; a person she had held onto with a vengeance even at times when he was less than inclined to be a part of her life. She has never given up on Hiro, yet now she was forced to let go once and for all and without sufficient warning. She always thought that if the worse happens and Hiro would eventually succumb to his illness, then at least she will have some time to say goodbye. Now he was just... gone, leaving a hollow chasm in her heart with no chance of closure.

Desperate to keep holding onto him, she kept his eyeglasses for keepsake, along with a few other belongings she packed into her bag. Hiro didn't have many personal artifacts; almost everything he owned had a practical use, from kitchen utilities to work-related materials and a few handyman tools. His most private possessions were various memorabilia having to do with Adriel: photos, drawings, Christmas cards and such. She found a whole bunch of them stored in a shoebox under his desk. The plain treasure-box seemed very out of place in a sea of practicality, and perhaps it came to show just how difficult it was for Hiro to find a proper place in his life for something so personal. Sifting through the mementos he had collected over the years, Marissa's eyes flooded with tears while a big sad/happy smile lifted her lips with a conflict of emotions. If only Adriel knew just how much his father cared about him... now, he will never get the chance.

Soft candlelight haloed around her long and wavy brown hair as she bowed her head down slightly and put on Hiro's black eyeglasses. They smelled like him too, emitting soft traces of his musky shampoo. The lenses hardly distorted her vision, but they did provide a wider viewing angle, enhancing the peripheral edges of her sight so she could see them as clearly as what lay straight ahead. The world seemed bigger, wider, and full of lights. She could see the rows of candles burning before her stretch from one side of the church to the other. It was beautiful; seeing through Hiro's eyes was beautiful, though she doubted he was ever able to see what she saw. The eyeglasses were supposed to aid widening his progressively narrowing field of vision, but towards the end they didn't make much of a difference and he used them mostly for reading.

She lowered her head down to gaze at her golden cross necklace. Slowly, almost dreadfully, she reached two hands up to unfasten the chain. She placed the delicate necklace in the palm of her hand and closed her fist around it tightly, drawing strength from the frail pendant.

Hiro gave her the necklace as a Christmas gift, many years ago. She replaced her grandfather's locket with Hiro's, and even after things changed between them, she continued wearing it instead of the one her grandfather had given her. She was never sure why; it was just that she never bothered taking it off, much like divorcees or widows sometimes kept their wedding ring on their fingers. She supposed that her parting with Hiro was never really finalized; he has been a part of her life for so long and now he was... _gone_. Gone! How could he be gone?!

A sob fought its way up her throat, but she suppressed it, clutching her fist tightly around the delicate golden necklace. An image fluttered gently through her mind: she recalled how Hiro had gazed down at it, his mystifying blue eyes fixed on the small golden cross bouncing slightly against her naked chest as they made love by candlelight. She had gazed upon his handsome face, appreciating the game of light and shadow across his youthful features as he moved, rocking gently. Small flames reflected in his soulful eyes, enchanting her. Their gazes locked and she could not take her eyes off of him. She drank the sight of him hungrily as he moved against her. She could get lost looking into his eyes. She would melt away into a sea of a thousand tales hidden in a pair of eyes so tortured and fierce, yet gentle and kind at the same time.

Back then, Hiro was but a twenty-year-old boy; a lost child with the lifetime experiences of a shattered old man. The ambiguity was captivating. His combined innocence and maturity were deeply endearing. It captured her heart and inflamed her loins. She had fooled herself into thinking that she had fallen in love with him; a young man eight years younger than herself, a person too wounded to truly love her the way she wished he would. Even so, at least for a while, Hiro tried to love her back, struggling to comprise a feeling that will overpower his pain; any emotion that would perhaps stir his heart with joy. He had been starving for love of whatever kind, and she had been eager to offer him all the love he could ever wish for, whether maternal, romantic or erotic.

For a while, they enjoyed the sweet illusions of an undefined love. She invited Hiro into her home on many occasions, under the pretext that he should relearn how to handle himself out of the rehabilitation ward. He had spent many nights sleeping on the sofa in her apartment, until one night he had moved to sleep in her bed. The comfort of spending the night sleeping spooned next to another warm body was what first lured him into her bed, though Hiro later accused her of enticing him into a sexual relationship. As she recalled, he had been willing and even eager to learn what she had taught him. However, when sleeping with her resulted in pregnancy, Hiro became enraged and blamed her for tempting him into something he should never have done. He accused her of taking advantage of him, of his condition, and severed all ties with her, refusing to acknowledge the fact that she had gotten pregnant with his child.

She felt cheated by him, by fate and by God. She tried to do the right thing and it blew up in her face. She meant to find fulfillment in nursing others; she hoped to help a young man find life, love and purpose, and in the end she had lost both her job and the man she had set out to help. She soon learned that the two of them had fallen victim to a classic Freudian case of romantic transference, or so Dr. Grabelsky explained to her during the disciplinary hearing, just before the administration board kicked out of the hospital for her involvement with Hiro.

She refused to believe their presumptuous claim that she only became emotionally entangled with a patient under her care and that Hiro in turn grew attached to her for being the only significant person in his life. The hospital accused her of extreme boundary violation of her nursing duties and charged her for sexual misconduct, despite the fact that the relationship was mutual and with full adult consent. Her nursing license was revoked and she found herself jobless and pregnant with a bastard child. Her mother was furious and threatened to disown her. Her brother Pedro always took their mother's side, for he feared the consequences of doing otherwise, so she had to beg her scornful mother for help and moved back home.

Although living with her mother, Marissa has never felt more alone. She went through the roughest months of the pregnancy feeling utterly miserable. Her mother even refused to accompany to the hospital when she was finally due. Her brother Pedro gave her a ride, but God forbid he would stay during labor. Only the midwife remained by her side throughout the grueling process of child birth. The delivery was very difficult: Adriel refused to come into the world naturally and she had been rushed to the OR for an emergency C-Section. No one was there to hold her hand as they operated on her; she lay frightened and alone, naked and quivering on the cold operating table. She cried, filled with self-pity, telling herself that even her unborn child knew better than to be born into a cold and ungrateful world.

Although reluctant, her mother took Adriel and her into her home. Anxious to find employment and move out of the old woman's apartment, Marissa took the first job she could find and began working at the Rittenhouse Hotel. The meager income was hardly enough to help her save enough money to rent her own place; she couldn't even afford the security deposit. Desperate, she had swallowed her anger and pride and went to see Hiro. The young man had already been discharged from the ward and was living on his own for over a year. Although he was more than capable of handling himself as an adult, when it came to their baby he had childishly refused to even hear about the boy, distraught by the very notion of having created a living being that was a part of him, a sinful continuation of his existence.

Marissa understood how difficult it was for him to deal with the concept of creating something as pure as a child. She was aware of how much Hiro had suffered in order to play his role in God's great plan. He had been subjected to pain beyond her understanding. He had endured many horrors; sacrificing his own personal peace for the sake of humanity's.

She was twenty-three years old, studying to become a nurse, when the Gundams first arrived on Earth. Even though over ten years have passed, Marissa could still clearly recall the first time she saw a Gundam on TV. News cameras caught sight of the fearsome fighting machine blasting through an Alliance European naval base. She watched, fascinated by the majestic sight of a white winged Gundam raining fire from above. The angelic Gundam swept through the battlefield gracefully, bringing hope to a planet where hope was lost.

Her very soul shuddered as she became a witness to something unique, outstanding; an apparition both demonic and angelic; something wild and grisly, beautiful and pure at the same time. She suddenly felt her existence reduced to nothing, feeling herself to be in the presence of something almost supernatural, entirely alien and yet pulsating with energy and life far more real than her own. It was as overwhelming as the very concept of God itself. The Winged Gundam was at once awful, august, majestic, overpowering and uncanny – a brutal manifestation of God's will. She felt both terrified of, and attracted to, the haunting mystery behind its origin and identity of its pilot.

She never could've imagined that years later she would become the keeper of that pilot's soul. Even in her wildest fantasies she couldn't have fathomed that he would be so young, so wounded, so... lost. Hiro was a fallen angel and Marissa has always been fascinated with, and desirous of, the divine. Falling in love with him had fulfilled her deepest spiritual longing. She felt that it was her role to help this lonely savior find his own path towards peace, and she had struggled to do so for as long as she has known him.

However in the end, her efforts were proven vain. She could never bring enough light to chase away the dark shadows Duo had cast over his soul. If Hiro was the angel, then Duo was an apostle of Satan; a demon sent to torture and maim. Her love and care were never enough to exercise this demon. She could never truly heal Hiro; she could only bring him comfort, but never real peace of mind.

She offered her love freely, but all he could ever offer in return was his care for her. His heart was too frail to withstand the dubious and powerful emotions she insisted on bringing into his world. Hiro erected unbreakable walls around his heart, trying to protect it. It became clear that her love could never breach those barriers; it could never overcome the anguish Hiro has been through. The darkness remained in his heart, nested deeply in his soul, always lurking beneath the darkest shade of blue in his mournful eyes.

Her romantic love failed to redeem Hiro's soul, so Marissa then came to believe that the love for their child was the answer. She was determined to make Hiro see how much he needed his son in his life, how full of purpose his existence would be if he would only acknowledge his baby boy.

At first, Hiro responded to her attempts with great reluctance and reservation. Being Adriel's father was a duty, perhaps even a burden. Caring and providing for the infant was just another task Hiro fulfilled dutifully, much like any other obligation he had ever been entrusted with. If nothing else, the financial responsibility was an incentive for Hiro to join the job-market and eventually build a successful career. She probably never would have gotten out of her mother's house if not for Hiro's offer that he'd pay her rent. She insisted that she'd only take his money if he'd agree that she'll move next door to him. Her motive was obvious, and she was surprised when Hiro actually agreed (granted, she never left him much of a choice). They searched for an apartment building together and by the time Adriel was two years old, they became next-door neighbors.

She would have fallen into great debt if not for Hiro's financial support, but it wasn't enough. She needed more out of him, and he resented her for it. He truly believed that he was incapable of offering their child more than materialistic benefits. For years Hiro had fulfilled his role grudgingly; refusing to fully accept the more profound meaning behind fathering a child. However she was just as hardheaded; she never went easy on him – not at the ward and not in their personal lives. Marissa relentlessly tried to convince Hiro to spend more time with his baby boy. After much struggling and turmoil, when Adriel was about three years old, Hiro finally began spending time with his son up-close and personal rather than keep his distance.

As the years went by, Marissa began to notice a change. She could tell that Hiro no longer considered himself as a mere benefactor who sent his son money in order to fulfill his obligation as a parent. With time, Hiro found salvation in his son, and Marissa found peace in learning that she had filled her role on God's Earth: she gave Hiro hope, a sliver of light in his sea of darkness.

At long last, the unwavering darkness loosened its tight grip around Hiro's soul. It no longer lingered so hurtfully in his eyes the more room he made for Adriel in his life. As he grew closer to Adriel, something in him softened. Like a flower opening to the sun, Hiro's heart gradually opened to Adriel, absorbing the child's love much like a flower bathed in sunlight in order to survive. The boy exposed something tender and caring in Hiro, a side of him she had never seen before. She knew of his kindness, but she had never seen his heart glow with such care and compassion; a distinct fatherly trait.

Hiro's love for his son was genuine and strong; although always from a safe distance. He stubbornly refused to open the barriers and let his son fully into his heart. He loved him from afar, from behind the secure pretense of a friendly caretaker rather than a father. Although restrained, Hiro's love for their child slowly overcame the hurt that was rooted deeply into his fragile heart. She truly hoped that Hiro will be able to reconcile with his past, but in the end, the darkness won. Hiro allowed it to triumph by letting Duo back into his life. He had chosen Duo over her, over his own son, over his own life.

Why! Why would he do such a thing?

She could never understand what made Duo so important. What made him worthy of such sacrifice? What could he possibly have offered Hiro that was worth risking his life for?

Angry and upset, overtaken with grief, Marissa turned to look up at the symbol of her Lord and Savior, hanging over the church altar. She couldn't understand how such a thing was allowed to happen. The suffering of the saints and the prosperity of the wicked was beyond her. The Holy Bible never offered her a proper explanation. Not even a righteous man as Job – who had confronted God directly with this question – received a satisfying reason for his sufferings. In the Old Testament said that Job accepted God's reason for his many sorrows in silence. Sunday-School taught her that Job had turned speechless, humbled by God's chastising, and thus gave up and repent his requests for justice. However, she believed that Job's silence was in essence defiant, and that what he had given up was not his belief that justice will be done, but his confidence that God will behave justly. It was in her experience that the latter was truer.

Mournful and betrayed, Marissa's eyes filled with stubborn tears. She fought them, but the anger, helplessness and frustration were too great; there was no other place for those powerful emotions to go, but spill from her eyes. Her tears overflowed and she cried brokenly, bowing her head down in shame of sobbing helplessly.

A priest came to sit next to her, offering silent comfort. He did not pester her with questions, waiting for her to turn to him if she needed.

She has known Father Domínguez for years; he was the only one to support her during pregnancy, when her family shunned her for conceiving a child in iniquity. The kind priest helped her come to terms with her actions. Father Domínguez offered words of wisdom when her faith was deeply shaken; he helped her find redemption even after bringing forth a child in sin. _'The heart has its reasons that reason does not know_ ' he had told her once, quoting the Catholic philosopher Pascal, when she had turned to him in desperation, seeking the answer behind her falling in love with a young patient; a love that had cost her everything.

Father Domínguez also worked hard to bring her family together again, a difficult endeavor considering her mother's severe and unforgiving nature. The priest continued being there for her even after Adriel was born. He was the one to suggest Baptism by Submersion to cleanse the boy of his father's sins. Father Domínguez has been there for her during every crisis of her faith, but she knew that even he couldn't heal the blasphemous doubt that was now eating away at her heart.

"Hello Marissa," the priest greeted softly. He rested a strong, comforting hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him, tearful. He offered her a clean handkerchief.

"How are you holding up?" he asked kindly and she sniffled, shrugging helplessly.

"I'm getting by," she mumbled.

"And how is Adriel taking it?" the priest asked carefully.

"I haven't told him yet," she admitted in a faltering voice, trembling with tears; "How can I possibly explain all of this?" she sobbed, wiping her tearful eyes with the handkerchief.

"It's been almost a month," Father Domínguez reminded her; "Surely he's been asking questions."

"I told him Hiro's out of town again."

"Marissa," the Priest rebuked. "Lying to your son won't make it any easier. You have to tell him the truth. As the man's son, Adriel has a right to know."

Father Domínguez has only met Hiro once, during Adriel's First Communion (an event she had begged Hiro to attend and he compiled reluctantly), however she told her priest all about him, often speaking about Hiro during confession, seeking advice and confessing the lingering sinful feelings she still held for the young man. In a way, Father Domínguez knew Hiro well, at least through her eyes.

"I can't," she cried, bowing her head down shamefully; "I can't tell him... it'll break his heart. He cares for Hiro so much... How can I give him a father and then take him away in the same sentence?" she wept and hurried to wipe her tears away. Her mascara smeared, staining her face with black streaks under her eyes.

"I guess I'm still waiting for some miracle to happen..." she confessed shamefully; "He survived the impossible before. I... I keep having these ridicules fantasies of how he comes back and..." she sighed, shaking her head sadly; "...and tells Adriel just how much he loves him."

The priest nodded gravely in understanding. "You're waiting for divine intervention," he ruled, "that's understandable. It's part of the grieving process. But I'm afraid that you have to accept that what happened happened for a reason."

"What _reason_ , Father!" she snapped heatedly; "Did God decide Hiro was done playing his role so he allowed him to be tossed aside, plagued by demons and disease? Is that _biblical justice_ or a _sick joke?_ Why was he being punished for his sins without _any_ regard to the _good_ he had done, to the peace he had brought us! What kind of a God turns a blind eye to a man's virtue, to the noble things he had done? What kind of message is he sending us: that it doesn't matter if we do good, all he sees in us is evil? Then what's the point, Father! What's the point of struggling to do good when all He cares about is evil?"

"The book of Genesis tells us that, very early on, the Lord recognized that the intention of man's heart is evil from his youth," the priest reminded her. "That being said, God does not need the approval of his creations, so you might never receive His answer to your questions."

"Then what good is He? What good are _you?_ " she accused bitterly.

"There's a reason why they say that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, Marissa. God put us on this Earth with the choice to fight against our nature. We have the choice to do good deeds, but even the most virtuous man isn't really pure of heart. There's always a motive behind our actions, deep down, we are all selfish. Even your love for Hiro, as pure as you believe it to be, is selfish. Hubris a primal sin we cannot avoid."

"Oh Father," Marissa cried sorrowfully; "the irony is that unlike others, Hiro's intentions _were_ pure and righteous. He never did anything for his own sake; he always needed a reason that would benefit others. That's why it took him so long to recover from the head injury. Before he could relearn how to speak or walk, he had to learn how to do something for himself, he had to learn that benefitting himself is also a cause worth fighting for. He thought so little of himself that everyone else's needs had to come before his. I never knew anyone as sincere as Hiro. He was always true to his beliefs, to his emotions. Whatever he did, he did it because he believed in what he was doing with all his heart. He believed in Duo too... and look where it got him."

"Sometimes," the priest offered, "even while we try to do what feels right, we still end up committing a sin. In Hiro's case, I'm afraid that it was inevitable."

Marissa bowed her head down shamefully. She understood what he meant; they were both aware of the blood on Hiro's hands. That was why they decided on christening Adriel by submersion, even though the infant was but a few weeks old.

She was raised to believe that all people have been created in the image of God but at the same time, because of Adam's original sin, all people were wicked by nature and by choice. Apart from forgiveness through Jesus Christ, all were lost and alienated from God. And while she knew that Hiro abandoned God by choice; or perhaps, he was never offered the gift of Christian faith, whichever the case, Hiro didn't choose the sinful path he was forced to walk.

Marissa had learned to accept the role Hiro was required to play for the sake of the world, even if it dictated that he'd walk the path of a sinner. She did not view him as a rogue; she believed in the cause he had fought for. Someone had to do the fighting in order to carry out God's will. Many saints were forced to stain their hands with blood and were still rewarded in the afterlife. Even the road to Christianity was paved with blood during the Crusades. War was a part of faith; the sinful spilling of blood was a price many had to pay as they fought and died for their beliefs. She understood that well, but it did not ease her mind.

"That's exactly my point, Father," she muttered angrily; "Shouldn't we get _some_ credit for our good intentions, for the goodness in our hearts? God can't just dismiss us all as wicked and be done with it. Doesn't the Good Book say that if a wicked person turns away from all the sins they have committed and does what is just and right, then that person will not be punished?"

The priest nodded. "Yes, but the same passage also says that if a righteous person turns from their righteousness and commits sin, then none of the righteous things that person has done will be remembered."

"By righteousness, you mean believing in God," she realized dreadfully. "Virtue shouldn't be measured by religious faith!" she argued. "Hiro had his own kind of faith. He was forced to walk the path of a sinner, but he never abandoned his beliefs, he knew right from wrong. He fought for people, for freedom of choice. It's not fair to judge him solely by the blood on his hands!"

"Life never seems fair because we are unaware of the bigger picture, of the many works of God and his nature. That is why we have His Word to guide us. Doubt the bible, Marissa, and there is little solace I can offer you in your time of grief."

Marissa sighed heavily; burdened by a terrible sadness. Father Domínguez's words felt so empty all of a sudden, hollow of meaning, just like she felt inside. She got up, gathering her things from the church's bench.

"Thank you for your guidance, Father," she muttered brusquely, losing her temper to the hopelessness brought on by betrayed faith. "But for the time being, I rather keep waiting for a miracle."

She gestured a hasty goodbye and hurried to leave the church. She felt that it would probably be a while before she could bring herself to attend his Services again.

*             *             *

Quatre stood by a closed door, peering inside through a narrow window. He was looking into Duo's hospital room. It was dark aside from a small lamp above the bed, shedding a harsh yellow beam of light directly below. A priest was standing by the bed. Duo was sitting up, speaking to the elderly man. He was confessing, as he had been doing for over two hours.

It wasn't easy finding a Catholic priest in the L4 region, but Quatre used his connections to ask that the local prison priest will be brought to him. Apparently, the man was well acquainted with Duo, which didn't seem to stop Duo from confessing his whole life anyway. Not surprisingly, he had a lot to get off his chest. Quatre remained outside, pacing back and forth anxiously as he waited for Duo to finish making his confessions. He entwined his hands together behind his back as he paced; he was holding a small metallic case, clutching onto it nervously.

A few days ago he wouldn't have felt so uneasy about what he was about to do. He went down to Philadelphia in search of a dangerous madman, ready to deliver his own justice for the horrible crime Duo committed against his family. A blood revenge was necessary to restore his family's honor according to their Muslim faith [[1]]. However, instead of returning to L4 with a homicidal maniac, he brought back a guilt-ridden, broken man, full of self-loathing for his crimes. Only the sane regretted their sins as much as Duo now did. The darkness he had once sensed in Duo was gone. Quatre could not explain it, just like he could not explain how he had sensed Duo – a completely sane and devoted Duo, a person whose essence he hasn't sensed in years – speak to him through Heero's dying body.

When he arrived at the scene, he found Heero lying sprawled unconscious on the floor at the foot of his dresser; a cell phone and the business-card he had given him rested next to his limp hand. Duo was lying unconscious and bleeding a few feet away, by the bed. There was no way Duo could have made the call himself, it had to be Heero. And while he was fully aware that it was Heero's voice speaking to him through the phone, there was no doubt in his heart that the person speaking to him was actually Duo.

There was only one explanation, however remotely possible: somehow, ZERO was involved. Only the ZERO System could override one's consciousness and act on one's behalf. It was a long shot, but the only explanation he could think of. Heero's mind has been infected by ZERO, poisoned for over a decade; the ramifications could be beyond his wildest imagination.

Such a diagnosis came with vital implications, especially for Duo. In essence, it saved his life, but Quatre couldn't help but guiltily wonder: at what cost? The moral repercussions were great. The mere consideration of the unethical path he was about to pursue was mind-boggling.

The Quran strictly forbade what he was about to do. It was Allaah the Almighty who said: _"Who so is slain wrongfully, we have given power unto his heir, but let him not commit excess in slaying_ " [[2]], and the Prophet Muhammad added that if a relative was killed, or if has suffered Khabl (a wound), one may choose one of the three options: to retaliate, to forgive, or to receive compensation. But, if one wishes for something more and exceeds these limits, one shall be in grave penalty.

What he was about to do was excessive to say the least, but when it came down to it, his duty towards his ex-comrades ran deeper than his devotion to Allaah. That was why he couldn't bring himself to carry out his revenge and only settled of hurting Duo by causing him grief. However, Duo's grief was too great; he could not live with it and thus gave Quatre the opening he needed to see his revenge through. It was utterly insane, yet there he was, about to oblige Duo. Will the Heavens ever forgive him?

Quatre stopped in front of the closed door and peered through the hatch again. He saw the priest gesture the sign of a cross over Duo's bowed head and offer a prayer. He assumed that the confession was finally over and decided to step into the room. He held the small metallic case tightly in his hand.

"O my God, I am heartily sorry for—" the priest's voice trailed off as Quatre entered the room. He turned to look over his shoulder at the young man who just entered. Duo lifted his head up to look as well. Quatre noted the traces of tears on his pale cheeks. Duo's cobalt blue eyes were red and puffy, as they have been since he had told him of Heero's passing. The young man looked utterly broken; a gray and hollow husk of a person once vibrant with a thirst for life.

Quatre didn't say a word and simply stood by the closed door, waiting. The priest turned back to Duo.

"Go on," he encouraged.

Duo hesitated for a moment, keeping his wary eyes on Quatre, before he shifted his glance back to the priest and nodded slightly.

"O my God," he began praying with a trembling voice, his tone raspy with tears; "I am heartily sorry for having offended you and I detest all my sins, because I dread the loss of Heaven and the pains of Hell, but most of all because I have offended you, my God, who are all good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve with the help of your grace, to confess my sins, to do penance and to amend my life."

"Amen," the priest reminded him softly.

"Amen," Duo repeated weakly, inhaling a quivery breath. The priest made the sign of the cross over his heart and Duo joined him.

"Give thanks to the Lord for He is good," the old man said and Duo recited the rest: "For His mercy endures forever."

The priest took a step back and Duo inhaled deeply, releasing his breath in a lengthy sigh. He bowed his head down, keeping silent as he stared numbly at the floor.

"Are you ready?" Quatre asked as he finally stepped towards the bed. He placed the small metallic case he was holding on the bedside table. He fought to keep a neutral expression, but the look in his eyes clearly showed just how torn he felt by what was to come.

Duo gaped at him blankly for a moment, before he nodded his head with a careful 'yes'. Quatre opened the case and took out a syringe and a vial containing clear fluid. He filled the syringe and squirted some liquid out, testing it. His eyes shone with dread as he prepared to administer the shot. It was something he had to do himself. He could not order anyone to do it for him. This sin had to be his alone. He only hoped that somehow, somewhere, Heero will forgive him.

Meanwhile, the priest pulled out a small vial of his own and opened it. He approached the bed again and looked at Duo, wordlessly asking for the young man's permission. Duo gave the old man a nod of approval as well.

As Quatre injected the fluid into Duo's IV line, the priest smeared oil on Duo's head in the shape of a cross and began praying, giving the young man his Last Rites:

"Through this Holy Unction, and through the great goodness of His mercy, may God pardon thee whatever sins thou hast committed by evil use of sight, speech and touch." The priest made the sign of the cross over Duo's heart and added: "May the Lord pardon thee whatever sins or faults thou hast committed."

"Amen," Duo whispered shakily, closing his eyes briefly. He then turned to Quatre and offered the disturbed young man a small, sad smile of gratitude.

"Goodbye Quatre," he said plainly; "Thanks for doing this for me," he whispered gratefully and leaned back into the bed. "See ya on the other side..." he mumbled, closing his eyes.

Tears flooded Quatre's eyes and he nodded hastily in acknowledgement. As Duo's consciousness slipped away, Quatre turned to face the other way, closing his eyes sorrowfully. "May Allaah forgive me..."

*             *             *

**To be continued in Chapter 17: Acceptance:**

"You gave the heart monitor quite a scare," the old man said slowly; "did something startle you?"

oOo

"They took... something... from me..." he mumbled, gazing numbly ahead with haunted eyes.

oOo

"Do you honestly believe you deserve such abuse," she asked wretchedly, "that you're the one responsible for what happened between you two?"

oOo

 

[1] According to the Quran, the guardians of the family members of the person who was deliberately murdered have the right to kill the murderer.

[2] Quran 17:33


	19. Chapter 17: Acceptance

**One Week 19/21**

**Chapter 17: Acceptance**

A beam of light pierced through thick darkness, its heavenly white halo gradually growing until it encompassed all and everything around him glowed in white. As his vision adjusted to the brightness, he could make out the blurry image of some green haze resembling lush leaves. He stared at them in confusion until a feeling of wetness registered and he realized that he was drooling onto a pillow as his head lay facing sideways.

He blinked.

The image before him came into focus. He was staring dazedly at a window flooded with sunshine. There was a small table under the window, where a green plant stood in a vibrant blue pot, bearing vivid red flowers. He stared at them numbly, enchanted by the bright and colorful display.

His lips, numb and chapped, slowly moved to form a hoarse whisper: "F-flowers..." he rasped without thought, unaware of the word until it left his mouth. His throat was dry and rough as sand paper. He coughed weakly. The coughing caused him agony and a terrible headache; his temples throbbed painfully. He closed his eyes, hurting. Something kept buzzing weakly in the back of his head; a sort of emptiness that tingled unpleasantly in his mind, brushing repeatedly against his psyche. He felt drained, hollow. Each thought echoed within an aching void inside his head.

Gradually, the loud buzzing quieted down, turning into a low hissing sound. He stared numbly at the flowerpot, thinking of nothing; maybe then the emptiness in his head wouldn't feel so disturbing.

An image popped into his head, vague and distorted. It wasn't quite an image, but more like an intense flood of vibrant emotions: raging-red for pain, repulsive-green for horror, ominous-black for fear, cobalt-blue for sorrow and a pleasant warm-white for love, all wrapped in one violent burst of unimaginable intensity. It stabbed him all the way through the heart and he gasped, startled by the fierce jolt.

Something beeped urgently, penetrating the deafening whirring pulsating in his head. His heart was pounding wildly and the beeping followed each hysterical heartbeat.

A door opened quickly and a doctor rushed into the room. He was an elderly and gray haired man wearing thick black glasses. The man walked over to the bed and stood over him, looking at something above his head and beyond his line of sight. He stared at the doctor mutely. The senior man reached to touch something and the frantic beeping stopped. He then moved to look down at him, meeting his eyes. He examined his patient quietly for a moment before offering a cautious smile.

"You gave the heart monitor quite a scare," the old man said slowly; "did something startle you?"

He tried to think of an answer, but no words came to him. The humming in his head was sizzling as though reaching a boiling point. He winced; it was very painful.

The doctor frowned worriedly. "Can you understand me?" he inquired carefully. "Can you tell me your name?"

He thought the question over, wracking his muddled brain for an answer. It was so empty... only a loud hissing noise filled the void between his ears. He looked up at the doctor, his expression lost. The elderly man seemed even more worried than before.

"Take your time," he said slowly and then added: "I asked you for your name," as a gentle reminder.

A name... The answer had to lie somewhere in the hazy swarm buzzing and pounding against his skull... Surely he had a name, right?

 _'Maybe we should call **you** 'Duo' then...'_ a distant voice whispered, filling the hollowness for only an instant.

 _Duo..?_ He wondered and the thought echoed inside the vacuum in his head. There was nothing there. Such emptiness... It hurt as though a hole has been punctured through his brain.

 _Duo?_ He tried again, getting anxious when there was no answer. "D-Duo..?" he even rasped out loud, calling the name out weakly. The doctor seemed concerned.

"Are you sure?" he asked cautiously.

He licked his lips. They were very dry. Everything felt so uncomfortable. He wanted to jump out of his own skin. He tried to think, but the emptiness in his head was so heavy, so loud... it blocked everything. He couldn't think and the hissing continued to seethe through his mind like an electric storm. There was nothing else there. Nothing but...

_'I can still take away someone you care about!'_

_'Duo – don't!'_

His heart exploded and the monitor resumed beeping frantically. He tried to calm himself, breathing harshly through gaping lips. His head hurt so much, but his heart hurt even more. Why was he so scared? Why didn't he have a real name?!

 _'It's Nakasone,'_ a soft female voice suddenly whispered in his head _; 'Hiro Nakasone, spelled with an 'I', not an 'E', like you requested.'_

Relena... yes, he remembered. She was there once, and then she left. That hurt too. He turned to look at the doctor, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. He couldn't control them so he simply allowed them to spill from his eyes when they overflowed. He was so sad. Everything was so... jumbled... and sad, so very sad... He had lost something, something very important, very dear. It wasn't there anymore. All that was left was... "Hi-Hiro..." he croaked unsteadily, struggling to speak over the coarseness in his dry throat. He reached a trembling hand up to wipe away his tears. His wrist felt very bony against his face.

"Hiro with an..." he sighed; it was hard to speak, even whisper. "...an 'I'..." he finished faintly, blinking the tears away from his eyes.

The doctor seemed relieved. A wide smile spread on his wrinkled face. He nodded his head in approval.

"Good, very good," he said; "And do you know who I am?"

He closed his aching eyes, allowing them to rest a while. For a moment, all he could concentrate on was the darkness behind his eyelids, and the low electric buzzing in the back of his head. Such numbness, such void... an absence that left him hollow to the core. He mourned for the loss of... something. Something that has been there for so long and now it was gone. He felt so alone; caught somewhere between the lines of hope and despair where neither feeling felt appropriate.

"Hiro?" the doctor called his name softly, drawing him back to reality. He opened his eyes, blinking away the rest of his tears, and nodded his head weakly.

"Alan..." he whispered with a faltering, feeble voice. He didn't even sound like himself. He sounded... different. Empty. Dead. A light has been distinguished in his mind, leaving him alone in the dark, surrounded by fear, guilt and blame.

Hiro shifted his glance up to meet the doctor's eyes. Suddenly he realized that he could see beyond what lay directly ahead of him! He could actually _see_ the room around him even while he focused on Dr. Grabelsky. The blackness constantly lingering to the edges of his vision was gone!

"A-Alan..." he stuttered faintly, awed; "I can... see..."

"I'm not surprised," Dr. Grabelsky confirmed firmly. "That's because the tumors are gone, Hiro. They've been removed."

He stared at the man, stupefied. "G-gone..?"

"There's a lot I need to explain, but it can wait until you're feeling a bit more lucid. Right now all I need you to do is wiggle your toes for me. Can you do that, Hiro?"

It took him a while to process the request and when he finally did, he wiggled the toes on his right foot; he could feel them brush against the blanket covering him. His left leg felt too numb to even try moving his fingers.

Dr. Grabelsky didn't seem pleased with the result. "Your left foot, Hiro," he said calmly; "Wiggle your toes."

He tried, but nothing happened. It was like trying to move stone. He groaned; clenching his eyes tightly. He tried harder. It hurt so much. Finally, there was a slight movement. It was all he could manage. He opened his eyes, tears of pain and effort lingering at their corners, and turned to Grabelsky.

The doctor nodded gravely. "That's good, Hiro. Don't worry," he assured him; "it'll get easier as you get stronger. You've shattered your left femur bone completely, but it's been fixed – quite extraordinarily, actually. It's been replaced and your knee bones were reinforced with more plates around the tibia. The nerves and muscles seem to work perfectly, which means you won't need any physiotherapy. I read about a group of scientists who were experimenting with such a delicate procedure on L4. As far as we could tell, the deviations in your left leg and pelvis alignment have been fixed. You may very well walk without a limp now."

That was too much, too fast. He didn't get any of it. He gaped at Alan dumbly for a long moment. "W-what?" he finally stuttered, confused; "L... L... Four?"

Dr. Grabelsky smiled gently, realizing he had imposed too much information on recovering a patient from neurosurgery. He should have known better, but he couldn't help it. He was very fond of Hiro and was happy to see that the young man he had tended to for nearly ten years was finally on his way to a full recovery; it was somewhat of a miracle.

"Yes," he confirmed; "Jerry seems to suspect you've been up there the whole time you were gone. He's outside, if you wish to talk to him."

Hiro nodded weakly, still quite dazed.

"I'll send him in," the doctor said; "Kick him out if he gets too demanding. You need your rest."

Grabelsky left the room. Hiro stared at the closed door for what felt like forever. His eyelids were getting heavier by the second and it was getting harder and harder to open them after each blink. He was so tired, but he needed to hear what Jerry had to say.

The red-bearded agent entered the room, dressed in Preventer uniform. He was holding a small notepad and pen.

"Welcome back to the world of the living," he greeted with a sarcastic smile and came to stand by Hiro's bed. "How you feeling?"

Hiro stared at him for a moment, thinking. Everything hurt as his body gradually came to life. The pain awakening everywhere was a good sign, he supposed; it meant that he was somehow still "...alive," he finally murmured and Jerry's cynical mask cracked with a small smile of relief.

"Not bad for a man who's been dead for over a month," he joked and ran a hand through his red beard, regaining a serious composure.

Hiro blinked and stared at him with clueless eyes. "D-dead?"

"We were sure you were a goner," Jerry explained solemnly. "It's a long story," he sighed; "I won't bother you with the details, but I have to ask you some questions, okay?"

Hiro nodded in consent.

Jerry opened the notepad and prepared to write down his answers. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Hiro shifted his weary eyes to gaze ahead at the room, a blank expression of his face. He had no idea.

"What happened after I took you home that night?" Jerry tried to jog his memory.

Hiro frowned in concentration, struggling to summon something, _anything_ , out of the heavy emptiness in his head. It seemed to obscure everything, but little by little, memories began to seep through:

"I..." he started to recall the night Jerry came to release him from the hospital; "I fed Chow—" a painful lump suddenly blocked his throat, denying him speech. His heart skipped a beat and the monitor beeped again. Everything came back to him at once: Duo slitting Chowder's throat; the mad gleam in his cold blue eyes; Chowder's limp corpse lying in a pool of dark blood on the laundry room floor; the chase out of Marissa's apartment; the searing pain in his leg; the unbearable tightness in his chest. He remembered the blood gushing out of Duo's stomach as the knife plunged in. He remembered Duo's tears, and his own. He remembered the compassion filling his crushed heart as he held Duo closed to him. He recalled darkness taking over and then... nothing. Only emptiness remained. Duo was gone.

"Hiro?" Jerry called his name softly. "Is anything coming back to you?"

"No..." he lied weakly, closing his eyes and turning his head away from Jerry. The agent could probably tell that he was lying and indeed, Jerry didn't look pleased.

"Well, let me fill you in on what I know and then maybe something will pop up," he offered, but Hiro gave no response. He remained with his eyes closed, overwhelmed by the images and emotions assaulting him. It was hard to breathe and his wild heartbeat refused to settle down. The heart monitor was giving away his anxiety, telling Jerry all about his turmoil.

"You were missing for close to eight weeks," Jerry opened slowly; "We found traces of blood in your apartment, out in the hall and in Marissa's place. There was evidence of a struggle and a chase, but no sign of you or the assailant. All we found was your dog lying dead in the laundry room. Does that ring any bells?"

Hiro swallowed the painful lump still lodged in his throat and shook his head 'no'. He was still facing away from Jerry. Tears gathered behind his closed eyelids. He inhaled a quivery breath, trying to keep the intense sensations under control. His defenses were weak, evidence that his mind has been tampered with yet again. He recalled reading somewhere that recovering heart-failure patients also had a hard time controlling their emotions. Both his heart and his mind were working against him now. He fought to keep strong and turn to face Jerry again. He opened his eyes and looked up at the redheaded agent.

"I can't... remember," he whispered shakily; "it's all a... a blur..." It wasn't a complete lie, just a twist of the truth, so he hoped it would satisfy Jerry.

The agent sighed and resumed talking in hope Hiro might cooperate: "DNA test results showed that there were two blood types at the scene: yours and Duo's. With no other evidence to go on, we had to assume the worse. My only lead wasn't cooperating and the investigation was terminated by the higher-ups. I knew that Quatre had something to do with you gone-missing, but there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it."

Hiro stared at him blankly, waiting for Jerry to continue his explanation.

"You were suddenly found here at the ward three days ago," he continued; "Grabelsky was doing his rounds one morning and suddenly there you were, lying unconscious in one of the beds that were supposed to be vacant. Hospital records were hacked and updated to tell us that you're recovering from a heart attack, a stroke, neurosurgery and an operation on your left extremities. You were in an artificially induced coma and it took the doc a while to assert that it's okay to start waking you up. He ran three MRI tests just to confirm what the records said: the tumors in your head were removed. He couldn't find any confirmation that you've undergone an intrusive procedure on your head, just your arm and leg. No one could give me a straight answer about what's been done to you exactly, but I have my own theory:

"I had them run a blood test and it confirmed my suspicions. Oxygenation levels in your blood were compatible with someone who's been in space for a few weeks. My hunches tell me to put my money on L4. I'm still waiting for the results of a deeper analysis. If I'm lucky, the lab will be able to confirm that you've been breathing air produced by the L4 life-support systems. It won't be much, but if you give me your statement, it might be enough bring that arrogant prick into questioning."

"Q-Quatre?" Hiro managed to ask, struggling to stay focused and keep up. He found it very difficult to concentrate on Jerry's lengthy explanations, but he wanted to understand what's been done to him.

Jerry nodded curtly, an angry expression on his face. "Not only did that bastard kidnap you instead of rushing you over here, but he also had his men tinker with your head! And they're gonna let him get away with it!" the agent grumbled intensely; "He took the law into his own hands. He toyed with your _life_ , even after you told him to stay away. I need your help to do something about this. We can't let him play God – I don't care who he is!"

"We've always... played God..." Hiro whispered faintly, feeling sluggish. He was so tired. Jerry was asking him to participate in yet another fight, but he was so weary of fighting... Couldn't they just let him be?

"Well it wasn't very legitimate back then and it sure as Hell isn't now!" Jerry hissed harshly. "If the man wanted to play the hero and perform some God damned medical miracle, fine, but he could have gone about it differently. He could have followed the rules. You never gave him your consent!"

Hiro sighed and closed his eyes tiredly, struggling to reopen them as he turned to Jerry. "I can't give you... what... you need."

"Can't or _won't_?" Jerry demanded.

"Both..." Hiro murmured resignedly; his eyelids were fluttering shut and he couldn't fight the fatigue any longer. "What about... Duo..?" he managed to slur the question hazily as slumber took over.

"We'll pick this up later," he heard Jerry say; "when you're feeling better."

"But... what..." he was too tired to finish the sentence; his lips simply stopped moving. He was asleep.

Jerry remained standing by his bedside, looking sadly at the unconscious young man. He seemed so frail, even more brittle than before his disappearance. His weary features were ashen and gaunt. Everything about him seemed gray and faded, like he was hardly there, barely alive. His complexion was as whitish as a ghost and his cheeks hollow with malnutrition. His bony arms rested limply over the blanket wrapped around his skeletal figure, tubes and electrodes connected to each one. His collarbone stood out prominently since he was so scrawny. There was a white, hairline scar across his neck, evidence of Duo's assault. The agent sighed and looked away, his expression angry and upset. He turned to leave the room.

Dr. Grabelsky was waiting for him outside. The moment the agent stepped out into the hallway, he turned a pair of stern dark eyes to study him.

"How did it go?" he asked. "Did you tell him about Duo?"

"Not yet," the agent muttered sullenly; "He had a lot to take in as it is. I think we should wait until he's back on his feet. It'll be easier to take the blow that way."

The doctor nodded in agreement, though his expression remained harsh and grim. He was obviously displeased with the agent for interrogating Hiro for so long, but he didn't voice his disapproval.

"Well, doc," Jerry concluded the conversation and prepared to leave; "keep me apprised," he said and walked away.

On his way to the elevator he passed by an entrance to a separate corridor where a single door lead to a secluded hospital room. A young Preventer agent was guarding the door. Jerry nodded a brisk 'hello' as he passed by. The agent nodded back and Jerry stepped into the elevator.

*             *             *

Hiro slept for days, only opening his eyes briefly every now and then as his consciousness resurfaced and receded like the tide. Reality emerged in and out of blackness in long intervals:

Fade in: a nurse was by his bedside, adjusting his IV line. Fade to black.

Fade in: Marissa was sitting by his bedside, reading a book. Fade to black.

Fade in: he saw Dr. Grabelsky exit the room, closing the door behind him. Fade to black.

Fade in: Relena was leaning over him, holding his hand. That might have been a dream. Fade to black.

Fade in: Marissa was in the chair again. She was lifting Adriel up to sit on her lap and they both read a book. He recognized the colorful cover: it was 'Horton Hears a Who'. He wanted to linger for a while longer, but his heavy eyelids slid shut. Fade to black.

He awoke days later, when dusk painted the skies a murky purple-grey. A few of the red flowers in the pot under the window have wilted.

Opening his eyes slowly, he found himself lying curled on his side, facing the window. His hand was resting limply on the pillow in front of him, blocking his view of the room. He stared numbly at the hospital wrist-tag around his bony wrist. His name was printed on it in fading black ink: _Hiro Nakasone, M, 27, Neurology, 10.25.207_

His vision blurred as he stared at the wristband lengthily. It was an unpleasant reminder of the years he had spent living at the ward, helpless and defeated. He closed his eyes despairingly and swore: _Never again._

The room was quiet and empty; the illumination dim as the sun set out the window. Hiro was thankful to feel that the various tubes and electrodes connected to him have been removed. He was somewhat comfortable, so he remained lying motionless, staring numbly at the wall.

The void in his head gradually flooded with nightmarish images; memories of the night Duo came to kill him. He reached a faltering hand up and brushed his fingers against the thin scar running across his neck. An image flashed in his mind: the madness in Duo's eyes as he leaned over him, holding a blade to his neck, threatening to rape him once again. Hiro blinked the memory away.

The old scar on the right crease of his groin was itching. He wiggled his hips, trying to rid himself of the irksome feeling, but the scar burnt as though bleeding, throbbing as though still fresh, as it often did when he thought back on the night Duo marked his privates with his knife.

He reached a hand down under the blanket and placed it above the scar, over the thin hospital gown. He covered it with the palm of his hand, uselessly trying to hide it, allowing it to soak his body heat until it no longer ached so much. Of all his scars, that one hurt the most. Although always hidden, the scar made him feel terribly exposed, like the whole damn world knew about it just by looking at him: he had been violated, mutilated and disgraced; scarred for life in a most intimate way. Thinking about it made him feel so _filthy_. He wished he could simply wipe the shameful scar off of his body and make the memories disappear forever, but Duo engraved himself upon his flesh; he had etched his misdoings on him as a token of his domination; a permanent reminder of his shame and subjugation. Duo had marked his very soul with infamy, contaminating him with revolting filth no amount of scrubbing could wash away.

He needed a shower. He needed to get rid of the unbearable feeling of filth crawling under his skin.

Hiro struggled to sit up. His body felt heavy and stiff, but he managed to push himself up to a sitting position, supported by two trembling arms. He dragged his limp legs across the bed until they fell off the edge and dangled down like a pair of weights. By then, he was already exhausted. Sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched forward tiredly, he looked up towards the door leading to the ensuite bathroom and wondered how he was ever going to get there.

The door to his room opened. He turned to face it and saw Marissa enter, dressed in her blue maid's uniforms and white canvas shoes. Her frizzy hair was gathered into a usually thick ponytail, some stray hairs sticking out. She looked like she had just finished a long day of work. She also seemed tired and pale with worry; dark bags were evident under her large almond-shaped eyes. When she saw him, Marissa froze, surprised to find him awake and sitting at the edge of the bed, his bare, scrawny feet flopping down lifelessly.

Hiro gazed at her silently and she stared back. Many unsaid words hung in the air, dampening the mood with a heavy sense of inhibition. Marissa's eyes drank his sight quietly, absorbing the image of his unhealthily lanky frame evident under a sloppy hospital gown, of his pale complexion and painfully haggard features. His bangs had grown, falling into his eyes and framing his skinny face in a disorderly fashion. His expression was bleak; his eyes void and lifeless. They hardly seemed blue anymore, rather gray.

Tears flooded her eyes. She covered her mouth with her fist, trying to bite back her crying. Without a word, she rushed over to the bed and gathered Hiro into her arms, pulling him into a tight hug. She wrapped her arms around his slender torso, drawing the younger man into a desperate embrace. The hospital bed was elevated, so he was slightly higher than her. She buried her face in his lean chest, inhaling his sweaty scent deeply and letting it out with a whimper. She cried in relief, sobbing and shaking against him.

Hiro sat perfectly still, allowing her to shed warm tears that soaked his thin hospital gown. Words would not breach past his lips, so he continued to gaze at Marissa silently. She was crying for him. For as long as he had known her, Hiro has never seen her cry once; even back when he had childishly and foolishly pushed her away and refused to accept their son. Marissa was hot tempered and ruthless when upset, but she never cried; she was too proud to cry. Her sudden frailty touched him. Wishing to comfort her, he raised a pair of hesitant arms up, and carefully wrapped them around Marissa's trembling body.

His embrace surprised her and Marissa cried harder, sobbing into his chest as her body quivered in his arms. Even though he was sitting and she was standing, she suddenly felt so much smaller as he held her in his arms. In an attempt to soothe her weeping, Hiro leaned into her embrace, engulfing her wholly as he rested his head on top of hers. He reached a hand up to stroke her long wavy hair and caressed the thick curly locks along the length of her ponytail slowly, offering what little comfort he knew how to give. It seemed to work, for her trembling gradually subsided. She remained silent and unmoving in his arms.

A long moment passed as time seemed to halt. It was the first real embrace they've shared in over seven years; neither was ready to let go just yet, however at the first minor sign of uneasiness on Hiro's part, Marissa pulled back slowly, knowing that he had reached his limit for bearing such intimacy.

As Hiro released his hold around her, she drew back and reached two hands up to caress the sides of his face gently. She ran her long tanned fingers through his messy hair, fondling the thick locks lovingly. Hiro gazed down at her silently, observing the awe in her eyes. It seemed as if she was asserting whether or not he was actually there; so he let her.

Before parting completely, Marissa offered him a soft kiss on the forehead, much like she had done during their time together at the ward. At the touch of her warm lips against his skin, Hiro's eyes closed and a serene expression washed over his face. He felt her move away; her hand sliding down his arm until the warmth of her touch was gone. He reopened his eyes. Marissa stood a step away, looking at him silently. It was an awkward silence. Both were taking their time to recuperate from a rare moment of tenderness.

Marissa stood before Hiro, hesitant. She looked up into his eyes; her expression was torn between trepidation and need.

Hiro gazed at the older woman quietly. He was still at a loss for words, so he chose the comforting and familiar silence. He studied Marissa mutely as a lifetime of memories rushed through his mind in a blur. Over a decade of shared history with Marissa gushed by him and he realized that the woman standing before him, anxious and relieved by his return, has been there for him during every step of the way: since the brain injury to that very day. Although he had pushed her away numerous times, Marissa always prevailed, stubbornly making her way back to his side again and again. Even now; even after he chose Duo over Adriel and her, she was still there.

That amazed him. No one has ever stuck by him so relentlessly. Marissa had seen him in his worst; she was aware of his past, of the darkness lingering persistently in his heart; yet as always – there she was, standing before him, offering acceptance and absolution.

He loved her for that; he truly did. He hoped that she knew, because he could never bring himself to say it out loud. Maybe in another ten years' time he would be able to say the words more freely: Marissa was his family. Regardless of bearing his child; Marissa has been his family even before Adriel. He hoped that she was somehow aware of how much he valued and cherished her unconditional acceptance. One day, perhaps, he will tell her how much she meant to him. For now, there wasn't much he could offer her other the acknowledgment of his feelings, so he chose to break the heavy silence with more mundane words:

"I need a shower," he said simply; his voice hoarse and frail.

Marissa let out a small relieved chuckle, pleased by his familiar pragmatism. She nodded, sniffling quietly and wiped away the last of her tears. "Sure," she said, slipping comfortably into the role of a nurse; it was easier that way; it would give her time to regain her composure. "I'll help you."

She reached her arms up to help him out the bed. Once he was standing, however shakily, she slipped her arm around his slim waist. Hiro leaned on her heavily for support and they walked slowly towards the small bathroom. He was limping slightly, apprehensive about putting weight on his recovering left leg.

There was a round, white plastic stool by the shower stall. Marissa placed it inside and helped Hiro sit down. He sat slumped on the small chair; his back arched forward, his arms resting limply against his thighs and his head bowed down as he stared numbly at the white porcelain floor. Marissa closed the white shower curtain around the stall and stood behind him. She untied the knot holding his thin patient gown together, exposing his brittle-looking backside. Old scars she was well acquainted with blemished his pale skin; traces of abuse she knew too well. The bumps of his spine were clearly showing and her eyes watered as she was forced to gaze upon his fragility. It took her back to when she had first met him – young, helpless, defeated and in desperate need for human compassion. Old feelings resurfaced and Marissa fought to keep a level of professionalism.

She peeled the gown off him slowly and he moved his arms forward so she could remove it completely. She allowed it to fall on the floor and reached for the portable showerhead. She was still wearing her blue maid's uniforms and white canvas shoes. Soon they will be wet, but she didn't care.

Hiro remained unmoving, bended forward, his head dangling down tiredly. Marissa adjusted the water temperature and turned to wash him, holding the showerhead above him with one hand. The warm stream poured over his head, sliding down the length of his pale body and to the floor. His wet, dark brown hair clung to his head and face. He didn't reach up to shove the soaked bangs out of his eyes and simply closed them, letting his hair conceal his features. Marissa's eyes remained glued to the long hairs plastered over the back of his neck, reaching as far down as the nape of his back. His hair hasn't been trimmed in a while, a painful reminder of his long absence. He'd been gone for so long, but by some miraculous act of kindness, he was returned to her, cured of his illness. She's been thanking God in her prayers ever since Jerry called to tell her that Hiro suddenly appeared at the ward.

Tears flooded her eyes, blurring her vision. They were tears of guilt; shame for ever doubting her Lord. She regretted the bitterness, anger, scorn and resentment she had felt towards God. She felt humbled by God's merciful gesture of returning Hiro, but at the same time, she feared His chastising for her blasphemous doubt. She had responded with anger rather than faithfully believing that God had His reasons. She was so protective of Hiro that she could not see beyond the rage she felt for the unjust suffering constantly inflicted upon him. Her resentment blinded her and kept her from seeing the bigger picture. Father Domínguez was right all along... She felt so foolish for doubting him.

Sobs worked their way up her throat and she suppressed them forcefully, refusing to cry her sorrow out loud. Doubt still lingered in her heart, teasing, poisoning, and piercing her soul with rage and hostility towards the unknown. Why did God put this precious, gentle soul through so much suffering? What was the point if Hiro didn't believe in the first place? Was is just to test her, or was there some deeper meaning?

Marissa didn't know and the uncertainty left her shaken.

She turned off the water, put the showerhead aside and reached for a small bottle of shampoo. Hot steam engulfed the small shower stall, hovering lazily in the air, damping her face and smearing her makeup. She lathered Hiro's hair, massaging gently. Hiro kept his head bowed and his eyes closed, silently concentrating on the feeling of her familiar fingers rubbing against his scalp. She brushed against the lump in the back of his head, just above his neck; the scar from the hemicraniectomy he had undergone at the end of the war.

"Is there... a new one?" he asked weakly, keeping his eyes closed and his tired tone just above a whisper.

Marissa's fingers felt around some more, brushing through his thick wet hair.

"No," she finally whispered. "There's nothing else there."

He nodded faintly. Marissa continued shampooing his hair while tears streamed mutely down her cheeks.

"He was there..." Hiro suddenly mumbled; "and now... he's not."

For a brief moment, she thought that for some strange reason Hiro was referring to God, but he never did. It had to be something else.

"Who was?" she asked carefully, but Hiro didn't answer. Marissa continued tending to him silently, applying soap to his bended back, shoulders, hips and waist, foaming it up as she rubbed the lather into his pale skin, gliding over the bumps of spine. He was so thin... so frail... so dear. She loved him so much. All she wanted to do was gather him in her arms until he would feel better, stronger... more like himself. She couldn't bear seeing him like this, weak and defeated. It hurt.

Fighting back the tears, Marissa reached for his right arm, lifting it up. It was so bony, so lifeless. He could barely keep it up in the air until she was finished applying the soap. He dropped his arm down limply and lifted the other one, his left arm, the one that was fractured in the car accident. There was a thin red scar running along the length of his inner forearm, evidence of the surgery that fixed his crushed radius and ulna bones. She expected to find a similar scar on his left thigh.

"Does it hurt?" she asked, her voice wavering with tears. Hiro shook his bowed head, gesturing a silent 'no'.

She nodded, feeling thankful. Although it hurt to see his scarred and abused body, at least she knew he wasn't hurting anymore.

Her hands continued traveling up and down his fragile body. She was crying silently so he would not hear; weeping the tears he could not shed. Although he's been through a great ordeal, to him it was somewhat of a routine, so he remained indifferent, unable to appreciate the fact that he's been miraculously cured. Perhaps he believed that the blessing will be short-lived. He was used to tragedy; to him bliss was trivial as it was fleeting. Marissa wished she could change that, but for years she had tried and continuously failed. Hiro was incapable of accepting positive dispositions; Duo had seen to that many years ago.

She grabbed the showerhead and washed the soap out of his hair. Her tears refused to stop flowing. She stood behind Hiro and cried noiselessly; both her uniform and her face soaked with water.

"Hotter," Hiro suddenly whispered, asking her to increase the water temperature. He wanted to feel it wash swelteringly hot against his skin. He wanted it to burn; he wanted it to cleanse away the filth. He wanted her to scrub it off him as only she could.

He leaned forward even further and wrapped his arms around himself, curling inwards, shivering under an internal cold. He kept his eyes closed, trying to fight off the unbearable feeling of violation. Something was taken from him against his will, leaving him hollow and alone. He felt... damaged. It was the same kind of hopeless vulnerability he felt after MO2; the same grief he felt for the loss of his only friend. He had somehow managed to save the lives of every person living on Earth, yet when it came to saving the life of a single man, he had failed. He had failed Duo.

The strong stream of hot water beat hard against his arched back, gushing down to the floor. Marissa's warm hands were still on him. He allowed her to comfort him, but it did little to soothe his distraught spirit. He wished he was bold enough to ask her to hug him again.

After a while, Marissa turned the water off and placed the showerhead back in its holder. Thick steam floated inside the small shower stall. She opened the shower curtain and reached for a hanger to fetch a clean towel. She wrapped it gently around his shoulders; he was still sitting hunched forward blearily, hugging himself. He raised a hand to clutch the towel so that it wrapped him like a closed cape, keeping him hidden, safe. His hair was dripping water; wet bangs still plastered to his face.

Marissa crouched on the wet floor in front of him and rested a hand over his healing arm, which still lay limply over his lap. Looking up, she studied his face quietly. Hiro was staring at her numbly. Despite the hot shower flushing his cheeks red, his face was still very pale. There was a tormented look in his eyes; an expression she recognized well from their time together at the ward. It was a sorrow that has been darkening his eyes for years; the look Duo had drilled violently into Hiro's eyes reflecting the heavy sense of anguish that ate away at his soul.

"They took... something... from me..." he mumbled wretchedly, gazing down at her with haunted eyes.

Marissa looked up at him; compassion shining in her brown eyes. "They gave you back your health, Hiro, your _mind_ ," she said softly, squeezing his hand as she spoke. "The only thing that's been taken away is your illness."

"No, it's... something... else..." he trailed off, seeing no point in finishing the explanation. She wouldn't understand. How could he possibly explain the blatant emptiness pounding in his head? How could he explain the grief he felt for something that made so little sense? Something has been torn away from him... a presence that has been accompanying him for over a decade was now gone, leaving an aching, screaming void in his psyche. He knew that it was never really _Duo_ living in his head, only an echo left behind by an intrusive machine. He went through the past ten years with a trace of an alien consciousness in his mind, completely unaware of its presence, until suddenly it was gone. He felt its absence as though the emptiness was solid; he was incomplete.

That was absurd, wasn't it? He knew that he was supposed to feel relieved, perhaps even joyful that the illness was finally behind him, but instead he just felt... miserable. Why was he grieving for something he didn't even know he had until recently? He had lost Duo a long time ago; losing the shadow in his head shouldn't make much difference.

Then perhaps he was mourning for something else, something far more perpetual. Maybe what he was missing was the hardship he had always known, rather than a ghost he only became aware of recently.

Yes, that was something he could understand. After all, all he has ever known was hardship; it has been a constant companion throughout his life and now he grieved for its loss. That made sense... but was it normal? Why was the prospect of a life without anguish so frightening? Was he only capable of being strong while suffering? He had been abused by frailty for so long; the illness simply became a part of him, redefining him, dominating every aspect of his life, eroding any trace of the person he used to be. Without it, he felt fearful and stressed. Overwhelmed; lost as he had been the night Libra had fallen. Once again a chasm has opened up inside of him; a void that was screaming out Duo's name.

"No one told me what happened to Duo," he finally said, looking down at Marissa with eyes that begged for her honesty.

For a moment she just stared at him quietly. Then she cast her gaze down, avoiding his piercing blue gaze.

"You're finally getting better..." she mumbled, staring at the floor; "isn't that enough?"

"Tell me," he demanded with a faint, yet harsh, voice.

Marissa sighed. She looked up to meet his eyes again. They gazed at each other lengthily until she final spoke:

"Hiro," she whispered his name sadly, "After all he's done... How can you still care for him so much?"

It was Hiro's turn to look away uneasily.

True. He had been sullied, disgraced and brutalized by Duo. Marissa was probably disgusted with him for even trying to help the deranged young man. She has always held a fierce resentment towards Duo, feeling the hatred he could never bring himself to feel towards the man he had considered his closest friend. He has been angry with Duo for so many years; it was a fury that has been simmering to a boil inside his heart, only bursting into ferocious flames when Duo showed up at his doorstep.

Yet he could never bring his anger to the point of hatred. He could never hate Duo, he cared about him too much, so Marissa felt the hatred for him and he allowed her to do so, never bothering to explain why chose to forgive Duo for his actions. She knew nothing of J's misdoings, of the order he had given to tamper with both their minds, of him toying with them like a sick puppet master. She knew nothing of the good Duo brought into his life before J's curse was triggered. She was ignorant to those of things, because he never could bring himself to tell her. In her eyes, Duo was a monster and he its victim. Quatre saw things the same way. That was why he probably did something to Duo, something everyone was trying to keep from him...

"I need to know..." he insisted halfheartedly, lacking the strength to stand his ground convincingly; "Is he alright?"

Marissa heaved a disappointed sigh. She then whirled her head up, looking at him with wild, tortured, eyes. "Why does he matter to you so much!" she demanded desperately, struggling to understand him, as she has been trying to do for as long as she has known him.

"You wouldn't understand..." Hiro murmured, closing his eyes, unable to face her anguish. He was hurting her; he didn't want to cause her pain, but he also couldn't slander Duo's name as she wished he would.

"Try me," Marissa pleaded, subjugated; "Help me understand why you have such high regard for that man," she spoke quietly, but sternly; "Even after all he had put you through, you still care for him – it doesn't add up!" She grabbed his hand, tugging it gently, forcing him to open his eyes and face her again.

"He... Duo he... he _raped_ you," she stated shakily. The words left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth, but she believed that it was time to get things out in the open once and for all. Even back when Hiro underwent therapy at the ward, he could never bring himself to speak of the atrocity Duo did to him. Though many must have suspected it, including Dr. Naveen – his therapist, only she knew about it. It wasn't because Hiro shared it with her willingly, but because she was always there when he jumped back to that terrible night. Hiro never told anyone about the rape. He devoted his efforts towards trying to deny it, hide it and ignore it, rather than to accept it and put it behind him. He was too ashamed to speak of it, even to her, and thus it kept haunting him. It was time to deal with it directly and finally put the tragedy behind him.

"Duo raped you," she repeated the bitter words. Hiro tried to look away, but she tugged his hand forcefully until he whirled back around, his eyes burning with suppressed anger.

"He hurt you," she stated and observed the way his face hardened with resentment.

"Don't you think I know that?" He hissed irritably, furious with her forceful approach. She never dared pushing him this far before. Anger, hate, shame and dread stirred inside him, forming into a burning, smoldering, unbearably tight thickness in his chest. His heart was pounding frantically, threatening to burst again.

"I think about it almost every single day!" he retorted tetchily, his voice shaking with barely restrained rage.

"Then why can't you just say it?" she snapped back; "You might be willing to acknowledge the act, but you won't acknowledge the fact that it was _Duo_ who did those terrible things to you!"

Hiro winced, hurt, and looked away, refusing to listen; but she held onto his hands tightly, forcing him to face her and her words:

"I want you to say it once and for all, Hiro. Say exactly what Duo did to you."

"I know what he did to me."

"Then say it."

He stared at the damp ceramic wall until his eyes watered and his vision blurred. She wasn't going to let it go. He was sitting completely nude in front of her, and yet she was forcing him to bare even more of himself, stripping him down to his very soul so she could see him in his utter nakedness. He hated her and he loved her for it just the same. Marissa never cut him any slack; _never_. Her perseverance got the better of him every single time. She will dig under his skin and draw those words out of him no matter what. She will do it because she cared and he will allow her to do so because he did too. There was a part of him that wanted to give in and simply say it, allow her to take away the pain, but the other part shuddered at the mere thought of letting go of the anger and hurt. He was afraid of losing the only thing that has somehow held him together all these years. Denial kept him strong; it allowed him to ignore the horror. Saying those words would be admitting defeat.

"I can't," he finally whispered his answer; he was still staring bleakly at the wall. "I won't say it."

"You will," she insisted, holding onto his limp hands strongly. "You will because there's no more point denying it."

"There is," he shook his head faintly and turned to face her. "I can't because... because it was... it was never really him..."

"You can't keep protecting him like this!" she exploded angrily; "He doesn't deserve it!"

"Yes, he does," Hiro said simply; there was a tragic, wistful shine in his Prussian blue eyes. "Duo had to— he had to... to hurt me. He had to r—ra—" he tried, but the word was lodged in his throat, wedged stubbornly inside him, refusing to come out. It was just too painful to let it out. It clawed at his throat, struggling against his attempt to force it out of his mouth. His throat turned raw as though bleeding. He had to push the cursed word out as violently as a retching cough.

"— _rape_ me..." he finally let it out with a broken sob, shaking his head and covering his face shamefully; "Duo... he... he had to... to do it... because it was the only pain I didn't know," he explained in a trembling voice and actually felt his anger sizzle heatedly with each word as he tried to rationalize the brutality. It felt wrong to justify the atrocity. It hurt to expose something so raw, yet at the same time... it felt so good, so _right_ , to finally let go. Hiro trembled under the strain of ambiguous emotions seething through him. There were many things he felt that he could say to her right now, so much he wanted to share with her so that she could once again soothe his aching soul as she had done during his time at the ward. Back then he was unable to control his emotions well; it was a liberating existence, but a very vulnerable and exposed one. Now, while there was still so much he wanted Marissa to know, his lips were locked tight and he had to fight in order to get the words out:

"I... It was my fault... I couldn't stop him... he couldn't fight it and he just... he... he..." he was shaking badly, unable to speak anymore. He clutched the towel close to his chest and closed his eyes sadly, shivering.

"I don't hate him for it," he whispered, barely audible. Tears slid down his hollow cheeks. "I just wish... I wish I could have done something, said something... anything... to stop him. Nothing I said made any difference. I'm angry with myself for being that helpless. I'm angry with him for always making me feel this way. He makes me so small and I... I hate it. I don't hate him for it... I hate me. I hate myself for letting him get to me that way... I can't hate him for hurting me... he didn't have a choice. I'm just... I'm angry... I'm angry because of so many things, but I... I don't... I don't hate him for it. It was my fault. I can only hate myself for it."

Marissa listened, crying silently. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she looked up at Hiro's miserable face. This was the first time in the ten years she had known him that he finally spoke of the horror forced upon him. Hearing him say it for the first time brought more tears to her eyes. She felt his distress as though it was her own; perhaps it was.

"You can't possibly be the one at fault," she finally found her voice again. She reached a careful hand up and caressed his face gently, tucking a wet lock of hair behind his ear.

"You didn't ask to be raped. No one does. You were a victim, Hiro. And you continue letting him make you his victim... Do you honestly believe you deserve such abuse, that you're the one responsible for what he's done to you?"

"I _am_ responsible," Hiro insisted with a small, shameful voice. "You don't understand..."

Marissa sighed. "I think I do," she mumbled jadedly, speaking quietly and she cast her gaze down to avoid his hurt blue eyes. "You believe that you're someone who should be scorned, but I don't see it that way." She looked up again, struggling to maintain eye contact as she gazed up at his tortured blue eyes.

"You believe in people, Hiro. You believe in the miracles they can perform, in the good they can do. Despite everything you've been through, in spite of the evil you know man is capable of, you still have faith in humanity. That's why you fought so hard for peace. That's why you still care for Duo. You have a big heart," she added, observing his hands as she spoke. His fists were clenched tightly; she was upsetting him, speaking truths he was incapable of embracing.

"You're a bigger person than I am, than most people are," she elaborated, "That is why you're able to forgive despite the anger, despite the shame." She sighed, casting her gaze down pensively.

"I've given it much thought while you were gone, and I'm willing to accept that if you're still faithful to Duo after all he's done then there must be a good reason." She looked up again, meeting his awed blue eyes. She smiled at him gently.

"You might not trust my faith, Hiro, but I trust yours. If you believe Duo is worth your strong conviction, then you must have your reasons, and I'll give you my full support if you still wish to make amends with him."

Hiro regarded her lengthily, asserting if she truly understood. She smiled at him softly, her eyes shining with a familiar tender gleam; a sign of her approval. It was the first time she was looking at him like that while speaking of Duo. Something has indeed changed, he affirmed.

Her confession surprised him and he stared at her in awe. He never expected to hear those words from her and he admired her for speaking them. She overcame the hatred he had unintentionally planted in her heart. He wanted to tell her how much that meant to him, how much he appreciated her strength, but all he could say in response to her unfathomable kindness was:

"Thank you."

Marissa smiled wistfully. "Come on," she said and stood up. She turned to the bathroom cabinet and pulled out a pair of blue patient scrubs. She handed them to Hiro and took out a pair for herself as well. Sending Hiro an apologetic smile, she closed the shower curtain separating them. As he remained seated on his side, she took off her wet maid's uniforms and wore the scrubs instead. The sloppy blue scrubs were loose around her curvy waist, but tight around her ample bosoms. She prepared to leave the small shower room and picked up her wet clothes from the sink.

"I'll go ask Lizzy to put these in the dryer for me," she told Hiro and left the bathroom.

Hiro remained seated slumped forward on the small stool behind the closed shower curtain, still clutching the towel close to him with one hand and holding the blue scrubs in the other. He sat motionless, listening to the silence. The steam around him gradually dissipated. He was cold. He looked numbly at the clothes he was holding and gripped the towel closer to his chest. Supposedly, the task at hand was quite simple: get up and get dressed; but it was what came _after_ which filled him with hesitation. Once he stepped out of the shower, he will be forced to face the world again. He wasn't sure he could do that just yet; not with that terrible _word_ still burning on his tongue. The solid anger that has kept him together for so long was gone. Only a quivering hollow mass remained and he felt himself falter inside as though deflating, crumbling bit by bit as his anger dissolved into a puddle of nothing. The emptiness inside him grew now that he finally spoke that _word_.

He was raped. He was raped by Duo. It was a bitter truth he was forced to live with every single day, and still he had struggled to deny it. Denial kept him angry, kept him strong. Now Marissa has freed him of this struggle once and for all. Now, he could move on without that terrible word scorching his mind and soul. It was no longer confined inside him but rather out in the open like a bird freed from its cage.

It wasn't more hollowness he felt growing inside; it was freedom, unfamiliar and frightening. The chasm he felt opening up inside him was in fact a sense of liberation. The darkness has been lifted, leaving room to be filled with light, life, love and hope.

That was _uncanny_. There used to be a time when he believed that he could never put the humiliation behind him. Duo made certain that he could never hide his disgrace from anyone who ever came close enough to see his private wound. He felt that shameful dread the night Marissa first invited him into her bed with more than just slumber on her mind. Sleeping with Marissa for the first time was difficult, but his need for validation overcame his fear of violation. She taught him that sex could also be liberating; she touched him someplace beyond the scars, beyond the shame, freeing him of its bonds.

Thus far, Marissa was the only one capable of making him feel such blessed sense of liberation. He only slept with three other women besides Marissa, mostly to prove to himself that he could. The third one he met when he first started the AA program, before he was paired up with Jerry and finally ceased "falling off the wagon". On each occasion, he was very drunk and his female companions were too intoxicated to notice the scar. If it was any other way, he wouldn't have even considered initiating a sexual encounter. Unlike his experiences with Marissa, his one-night-stands were wild, rough and sometimes brutal. The first two women he met in a bar while still in the habit of drinking himself into a state of total incoherency.

Jerry made certain that he kept dry, doing everything in his power to keep him away from the bitter drop. One time, they even got physical while fighting over a bottle and if Jerry hadn't pulled out his gun and waved it in the air, Hiro would have probably killed him. That was when he found out that Jerry was a Preventer. After that incident, Hiro finally kicked the habit and stayed dry. However, without liquor, he gave up women and he hadn't been with a woman since the one from AA. It was just not possible without the numbing and liberating effect of intoxication. Sex was a luxury he could not afford; it brought back too many memories. At times, he felt so impotent, so small. He was emasculated by the _filth_. He could tear his own skin off and the filth would still be there to stain his soul, reducing him to nothing.

Now, Marissa has finally cleansed him of it.

Hiro let go of the towel wrapped around him and allowed it to slide off his back and fall to the floor. He turned to put the blue scrubs on, starting with the shirt. The wide short sleeves made his scrawny arms seem like two bony twigs sticking awkwardly out of a blue bowl. Once his left arm was through the sleeve, he stared at it numbly, gawking at the fresh red scar across his inner forearm. He flexed his fingers, testing them carefully. The movement was smooth; painless.

The next part was a little trickier. He lifted his legs into the pants one by one, hesitating as he moved his healing left limb. The movement didn't hurt at all. Slowly, he stood up, pulling the waistband up, and carefully shifted his weight evenly on two feet. That didn't hurt either. He stared at his bare feet and simply stood still for a moment. Then, he raised his right leg up shakily, wobbling slightly as he remained standing supported only by his left leg. Nothing; there was no pain whatsoever. He put his leg back down and continued staring at his feet. He wiggled his toes, first on the right, then on the left. The movement was natural and completely effortless. It seemed that he's been through a complete overhaul by Quatre's doctors. He wasn't sure if he should feel grateful for the man's aid, or violated by his blunt disregard of his wishes to be left alone. Sadly, the latter seemed to be the more dominant feeling.

Freedom of choice has been scarce throughout his life and life-changing events, whether good or bad, were usually forced upon him by the powers that be. He supposed that many people felt the same way, but they still had the privilege of making their own decisions here and there. For once he would have liked to have been given a say on the matter of where his life was heading. He hated being thrust into every damn situation without the option of resisting, however futilely. He thought he would at least have control over his own death, if not his life, but that option has been denied of him as well.

Sighing, Hiro pushed the shower curtain aside. He took a careful step forward and halted. His stride was steady; he didn't feel himself faltering slightly to the left as he did before. He took another step, and then another... and another. There was no sign of the limp he had carried for nearly a decade. His leg and pelvis were perfectly aligned, just like Grabelsky said. The realization actually caused his lips to curl slightly upwards with a cautious smile. He no longer had to be reminded of his deficiencies with every single step he took. He could finally walk around without feeling so damaged by his past. Freedom indeed! Perhaps there was room to feel appreciative towards Quatre after all...

By the time Hiro stepped out of the shower room, Marissa was already waiting for him out the door with a wheelchair. Seeing her dressed in hospital scrubs as she waited for him behind a wheelchair, Hiro was suddenly attacked by an uneasy sense of déjà vu. He forced himself to ignore his foolish ego and walked tiredly towards the chair. His pride aside, he was grateful to be sitting down again.

Once he was seated, Marissa turned him around and wheeled him out of the room. He didn't ask why or where, trusting her. She maneuvered his wheelchair through the familiar halls of the neurology ward, towards the elevator, and then turned into a separate hallway. Hiro frowned when he spotted a young Preventer agent standing next to the only door in the secluded corridor. The door was closed and the young man was standing in front of it, a pistol in his holster. When he noticed their approach he tensed and his hand hovered above his weapon.

Marissa stopped in front of him and leveled her gaze with his wary eyes.

"Agent Hodgins said we can come in if we want," she explained sternly. The young agent studied her briefly and then turned to examine the gaunt young man sitting in the wheelchair.

"You're Hiro?" he asked and Hiro nodded slowly, his expression stony as he tried to mask his confusion. What was Jerry keeping behind that door?

"Make it short," the agent said and turned to open the door for them. Marissa nodded in thanks and wheeled Hiro into the room. The agent closed the door behind them.

Sound of life support machines and monitors filled the small, otherwise silent, room. There was a single bed at the center of the room. Dim light illuminated the bed from above as nighttime painted the window black. A figure lay unconscious under the cover of a blue hospital blanket. It only took Hiro a few seconds to recognize him: Duo.

Marissa wheeled him closed to the bed and Hiro stared at Duo's sleeping face numbly, observing his pale complexion and the oblivious slackness of his usually harsh features. His medium-length hair was sprawled over the pillow, his choppy bangs falling around his face in a messy heap. Some obscured his closed eyes, brushing against his nose, swayed slightly by his steady breathing. Otherwise, Duo lay completely still. His bare, muscular arms rested limply over the blanket; an IV line was connected to his tattooed left arm. Hiro's eyes lingered to the lifeless hand, unable to tear his gaze away from the arms that butchered his beloved pet and then nearly killed him in a fit of implacable, hateful lust.

His vision blurred as he continued to stare at Duo's still fingers, slumped inertly over the blue blanket. A chill crept down his spine, raising Goosebumps on his wan skin. Those were the same fingers that had once nursed him gently after the battle over Libra, caring, soothing, tender and warm. The same fingers that roamed over his naked flesh, abusing, fouling, demeaning and cold. They were the same fingers that cut him to the bone and left him bleeding; the same fingers that fought against the urge to repeat the crime once more. Impossible feelings filled his heart when he thought of Duo. The contradictions canceled each other out, sinking into the hollow abyss in his heart until no feeling remained. The emptiness made it impossible to decide whether or not he still cared for Duo. All he felt was that aching hollow ball lodged in his chest, vibrating with a jumble of opposing emotions.

"Hiro?" he heard Marissa call his name timidly. She placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to give him strength. It helped pull him out of his dark musings.

"What's wrong with him?" he finally asked, keeping his tone quiet.

"Alan doesn't know," Marissa whispered back; "He appeared here the same morning you did, also in a coma, cause unknown. He hasn't shown any signs of waking up yet, though Alan says that he could wake up at any time, because he's been responding to external stimuli. Jerry has this room under guard in case he does."

Hiro accepted her explanation mutely. He studied Duo's pale face with guilty blue eyes.

Marissa remained standing behind him, fighting back the tears that stung her eyes. She blinked them away but some remained, and her eyes shimmered with regret.

She never should have let Hiro deal with this madman on his own. She reacted so poorly to Duo's arrival and took it out on Hiro with a vengeance, blaming him for taking Duo in while she should have realized that Hiro simply couldn't help himself; that he didn't know any better. How could he? He still cared for Duo. She should have realized how torn he would be by Duo's sudden return to his life, but at the time, all she could think of was getting their son away from the man who had hurt Hiro in the cruelest fashion.

However, what she should have done was to get Hiro the Hell away from Duo! She should have protected him as she did during their time together at the ward. Back then, Hiro depended on her protection; she had guarded his soul from haunting thoughts and memories, but when things got real, when Duo was suddenly more than just a recurring nightmare, but rather a tangible menace, she didn't pull through for Hiro. Marissa knew that Hiro never expected her to look after him, and that was all the more reason why she should have been there for him despite everything.

Filled with remorse, Marissa placed her other hand over his shoulder, holding onto both his shoulders gently. She felt his bony figure tense at her touch, but he did not shrug her off as he usually did. Instead Hiro turned to look over his shoulder, looking up at her with a question in his somnolent blue eyes. She offered him a remorseful, miserable, smile.

"I'm sorry," she apologized softly; "I should have been there for you when he showed up," she explained; "Instead I just took Adriel and bolted."

"You did the right thing," Hiro murmured and looked away uncomfortably, turning to face Duo's bed again. He stared somberly at the young man's comatose figure.

"He wasn't safe around Duo," he added in a whisper.

"Neither were you," Marissa pointed out and felt his shoulders tense even more; a sign that she was upsetting him.

"I should have pounded some sense into that thick head of yours. I should have helped you get rid of him sooner."

"I wouldn't have listened," he assured her; "I honestly thought that I could save him," he finished with a regretful sigh.

"Jerry told me about that girl on L4."

Hiro's expression hardened, but he did not turn to face her.

"You knew about that," Marissa determined as she felt him tense even more. Hiro remained silent, stubbornly focusing on Duo's face instead of at Marissa.

"You believe he deserves this," he finally muttered.

"And you don't," she asserted bitterly.

"I just know better, that's all," Hiro exhaled with a sigh. "He wasn't always this way," he spoke quietly as he watched Duo's expressionless face. "We've changed... so much..." he whispered desolately; "My deepest regret is that Duo never really got the chance to choose his own path. He was forced to become the person he is now and I did nothing to stop it. I was too... afraid. I failed him."

"You were forced to change too, Hiro," Marissa reminded him, squeezing his shoulders gently. "The head injury compelled you to become a new person. You didn't choose this either and while you were struggling to regain your life, you couldn't possibly have helped him."

"True," he agreed solemnly, "But in retrospect, the change has benefitted me more than I care to admit. I can't say the same for Duo."

"You feel responsible," Marissa observed; there was no judgment in her voice this time.

"I _am_ responsible," Hiro confirmed bitterly. He sighed heavily. Perhaps it was finally time to explain things to her, to finally reveal the full story behind what happened between Duo and he. There were many gaps to fill in for Marissa when it came to his story. She was aware of the basics, but now Hiro wished that she'll know everything there was to know about him. She deserved nothing less than complete honesty.

Inhaling deeply, he took a moment to find the words to share his story; to put his darkest secrets and nightmarish past into words. He was unable to face her as he spoke. He kept his blurry gaze focused on the blue blanket under Duo's limp arm as the words poured from his mouth. Marissa listened quietly, allowing him to finally tell his tale from beginning to end.

*             *             *

Nighttime at the ward was scarcely quiet. Incoherent murmuring filled the air, occasionally interrupted by a sharp scream, loud wailing or an angry shout. Nurses would rush into rooms, shushing, soothing, doing everything they could to calm the disturbed patients. Hiro lay wide awake in his bed, trying to ignore the distant racket. The neurology ward was adjacent to the rehabilitation ward, and both were filled with patients unable to hold back on the thoughts and feelings running through their damaged minds.

His room was one of the few private rooms at the far end of the neurology ward, thus thankfully far enough away from where the more difficult cases were staying. Even so, he could hear the screams slice through the stillness of the night, echoing all the way from the rehabilitation ward.

He used to be one of the screamers. Funny, he would have taken himself for one of the eerily quiet ones, or at least the "Mumblers" who whispered their darkest secrets when no one was around, but as it had turned out, he was a "Screamer". Agony would spout out of him in horrid shrieks as nightmares and hallucinations plagued him day and night. The jumping was at its worse during the first few months after the injury. There was so much hurt inside him, so much rage, fear and shame that they all gushed out of him in overwhelming torrents. His resurfaced emotions were unbearably intense, primal and erratic. He had no idea how to control the horrors he had buried deep inside him, hoping they would stay there forever. The head injury brought it all back to the surface. He had to relearn how to tame his intense emotions, sometimes relying on medication, or else they crushed him. In his initial helplessness, he had screamed, sobbed and wailed until he was drained of pain, empty of emotion; only then slumber would come. Later on, as he gradually got better, the fits would subside more easily, especially if Marissa was around. He had learned to live with the rampant storms seething in his mind until he no longer succumbed to the anguish so often.

Hiro sighed and turned over in his bed, the blanket tangling around his long limbs as he rolled over on his side, facing away from the door. He curled into himself, shoving an arm under the pillow, hugging it. His weary blue eyes gazed ahead dully, refusing to rest. He tossed and turned, unable to fall asleep even though his mind begged for relaxation. How could he sleep while knowing that Duo was a few rooms away, suffering the consequences of a crime he wasn't truly responsible for?

Guilt denied him of rest. Quatre did something to Duo. The Arab businessman claimed that he wanted to make sure Duo will never hurt anyone ever again. He didn't kill him like Hiro thought he would, but he did incapacitate him: he had put Duo in a coma. What if Duo never wakes up? What if he had doomed the liveliest person he had ever known to spend the rest of his life in a permanent vegetative state?

Duo didn't deserve that! Not the _real_ Duo... Not the person he had recently spoken with in his... dream? That person was a manifestation of his _true_ friend, of the person Duo was before the psychosis. But what if that strange presence was all that was left of the _real_ Duo? What if all that was left of the friend he had known and cared for was just a dream, a shadow that used to haunt the depths of his mind? That shadow was now gone, torn away from him along with the tumors and his illness. Did that mean Duo was gone for good, leaving behind an empty shell possessed by a madman?

Hiro clenched his eyes shut and inhaled sharply. He fought the tremors threatening to crawl up and down his body and curled deeper into a fetal position, feeling utterly miserable.

All he wanted was to save Duo, to break J's curse, to fight the evil spell _she_ had cast upon them. He was willing to give his life away in order to do that, but in the end Duo was the one to save him. Duo was the one who sacrificed his life for their friendship. Duo was the one who paid the ultimate price so that he may go on living.

That wasn't fair. It just wasn't. If only Duo allowed him to die, then he would have been given the chance to live his life as his own person. Duo would have had a shot at the same kind of happiness he had managed to find in life. That would have been fair. That would have made his death worthwhile. Now... now he was left to live with an aching black hole of grief and loss consuming his mind.

He refused to accept that. He will not give up on Duo so easily, not again. He wasn't the rash, foolish, frightened teenager he was at MO2. He will not cave under the burden of resentment, humiliation and shame. Those distressing emotions were no longer a part of him. He wasn't angry with Duo anymore. He wasn't afraid anymore. He had put the shame behind him, finally forgiving Duo with all his heart. How could he not? Duo has proven himself to him despite the psychosis. He had broken the curse all on his own.

No; he will not run away from Duo again. He will make this right, somehow. Duo deserved nothing less than his complete devotion. He will get Duo back, as he should have done many years ago.

*             *             *

Days passed. Life at the ward carried on in a pace much slower than the rest of the world, as though separated by an invisible bubble coating the patients with a protective layer of patience and fortitude. Hiro found that he will always regard the ward with a sense of security and nostalgia, as one would reminisce about his childhood home. It was a strange sentiment, perhaps, but he couldn't help feeling that way. The ward was a familiar place. He knew every hall, room, nurse and doctor; from the recreation hall where he had spent most of his time between therapy sessions, to Dr. Naveen's couch where he had lain and spoken of things he never thought he would, to Dr. Elin's colorful recreational therapy classroom where he had relearned the most basic of skills, to Dr. Grabelsky's office where he had been briefed about his condition and commended for his progress, to the PT room and hydrotherapy pool where he had relearned how to walk, and finally the well-groomed garden where he had shared many intimate moments with the only woman he had ever loved. Thinking of the ward filled him with a kind of safe assurance he would never feel if he thought about his real childhood home. He tried to avoid _those_ memories as much as he could, until they were forgotten. His _real_ life began after the head injury. Whatever happened prior to that was just a long nightmare. Now that he wasn't forced to jump back to those times again and again, he could finally let the demons rest and the nightmare fade away completely. The only memory he was willing to keep from those dreadful times, was Duo's friendship.

Dr. Grabelsky insisted on committing him back to the ward until he deemed him healthy and strong enough to be discharged. Hiro spent most of his time either resting in his room, or sitting by Duo's bedside. With each passing day he felt a bit better, gradually getting stronger, yet Duo remained the same. Grabelsky claimed that he couldn't find anything wrong with him. He said that _'someone is home, but all the lights are out'_. That meant that Duo was responding to external stimuli and his higher brain-functions registered on monitors, yet for some reason he could not regain consciousness.

He had asked Grabelsky to try to get his hands on some neuroscience research conducted on L4. He suspected that whatever Quatre did had something to do with his extensive research into the ZERO System. Such documents were most likely unattainable, but it was worth a shot. Perhaps one of Quatre's scientists went rogue and was publishing the results of what he had learned under false pretense. It was worth looking into, because Grabelsky had already mentioned once that he read a paper about an experimental neurosurgery procedure developed on L4. So far Grabelsky has had no luck finding anything else. After looking into it, however, Grabelsky became convinced that the tumors in his head were removed using this newly developed procedure. Hiro was certain that the ZERO System research played a part in his alleged _"miraculous recovery"_. He had no way of contacting Quatre to make any inquires, and he was certain that even if he did get a hold of the elusive businessman, he would not get his answers.

It was late noon and soft autumn sunshine filled Duo's small hospital room. The young man lay motionless on the bed, washed by pleasant sunlight. His pale skin and chestnut-brown hair seemed to be glowing. His lax features produced an almost serene expression. He seemed like a tortured saint.

Hiro sat on a chair by Duo's bed, reading a book quietly. He was dressed in a hand-knitted blue sweater and comfortable sweats rather than hospital scrubs. Marissa left him a bag full of fresh new clothes, explaining that she had donated all of his old ones to charity (she must be pleased that finally he was left with no choice but to get a new wardrobe!). The only item she kept was the blue sweater she had knitted for him many years ago. She found it lying buried deeply in his closet and didn't have the heart to through it away. It was the only item in the bag that was _his_ , and, feeling the need for something familiar, he put it on instead of a new garment.

Marissa also packed him a utility bag with all the brands he favored (or rather, was accustomed to), a new pair of shoes and the book he had been reading just before Duo showed up. He recalled last seeing it on his night table, but he hardly remembered the plot anymore. Marissa must have thought he would appreciate the sense of continuity, but it only served as a reminder that his life has been put on hold and then turned upside-down when Duo came crashing back into his life. Still, he appreciated her attempts to make him feel better, and therefore chose to reread the book from the beginning.

It was a complex suspense novel written by a promising young author going under the pen-name of T.B Arton. It told the story of a large cooperate conspiring to instigate a new war between Earth and the Colonies by building a new line of mobile suits on a new colony cluster they were constructing, hoping to profit from another war. Two undercover Preventer agents, ex-mobile suit pilots, male and female, are sent to thwart the corporation's evil plans and find themselves tangled in a web of deceit, while trying to figure out their own personal feelings for each other. The idea wasn't too far-fetched, which was why he found it interesting, and the writing was implacable. Even so, Hiro only chose the book because he was certain that he knew the author personally; he was curious to see what he had written. In any case, it was a good read. [[1]]

The sound of the door opening behind him broke his concentration and tore him away from the captivating plot. He looked up over his shoulder and saw Dr. Grabelsky peeking into the room, holding the door slightly open. He could see the Preventer agent behind him, guarding the door.

"I thought I might find you here," the elderly man said with a gentle smile. Then Hiro's stomach started rumbling and he realized that he had accidently skipped lunch. He had been sitting in Duo's room since morning, engrossed in his book. Surely Grabelsky was here to scold him. He supposed that this is what a child felt like when about to be reproached by his father on a mundane matter such as refusing to eat. He had learned a long time ago that he had no reason to fear such rebukes as he had feared the rough treatment he had endured as a child. Grabelsky's reprimands were born out of care and not from a sadistic need to discipline. He wasn't certain if he regarded Grabelsky as some kind of a fatherly figure, but he did have a great sense of appreciation towards the old man. Alan has taken his recovery as his own personal mission in life and there wasn't a day when he didn't come to check up on him and make sure he was taking good care of himself.

"I'll eat later," he promised before the doctor started preaching to him about his diet, and the old man seemed amused.

"That's good to hear," he said, smiling, "but I just came by to tell you that you have a visitor."

Frowning, Hiro closed the book and put it aside. "Who?" He asked warily. It couldn't be Marissa, because she would simply come in unannounced.

Grabelsky's smile only grew wider. Something seemed to amuse him greatly and it left Hiro wondering whether he should find out why.

"He's waiting in your room," Alan said simply and turned around to leave. Hiro sighed, shaking his head, and followed the man out of Duo's room and towards his own room at the opposite side of the ward.

"I told her it was a bad idea to spring him on you like this," Dr. Grabelsky said as he reached to open the door leading into Hiro's hospital room, "But you know Marissa, once she sets her mind on it, even a _bulldozer_ wouldn't make her budge. Maybe she didn't want you to run," he joked, releasing a chuckle, and then turned to Hiro, smiling apologetically. "She had to get to work so she asked me to tell you that he's yours for the afternoon. She said you two have to reconcile," he explained; "Oh, and _be nice_ ," Grabelsky added with a wink and finally opened the door.

Realizing what this was all about, Hiro's face paled with a sudden surge of panic. He turned to face the room slowly. His eyes quickly fell on the little dark boy standing inside the empty room, dressed in his Catholic school uniform, gaping back at him quietly with his little fists clenched furiously at his sides.

Hiro's breathing wavered briefly. He didn't expect to face Adriel so soon... and without Marissa to mediate between them. He had no idea what she had told their child about his long absence. There was obvious anger, hurt and betrayal shinning fiercely in Adriel's intense hazel haze.

Grabelsky left wordlessly, closing the door behind him.

Hiro stepped carefully into the room. Adriel's small face hardened into a stubborn and angry glare. Standing a few steps away, Hiro gazed at his son quietly without making a move. He noted the wounded look in the little boy's eyes and it filled him with regret. He understood why Marissa wanted them to reconcile. Her tactic was sound; it was all part of her typical _'here he is – now deal with it!'_ strategy. By leaving Adriel with him for the afternoon she left him no choice but to deal with the issue. She wasn't going to make any excuses for him, not anymore. It was yet another one of her attempts to push him into a corner so he would finally resolve his undefined relationship with his son. He knew that she wasn't acting out of anger this time; she was doing this because it was what he needed, so he could finally move on.

Over time, Marissa had learned to forgive him for getting her kicked out of the hospital after knocking her up, but never for the fact that he constantly refused to officially acknowledge Adriel as his son, despite her many attempts to convince him otherwise. Now, seven years later, he was actually reconsidering that decision. Having been cured of his illness and released of J's curse, Hiro felt that it was time to reexamine a choice he had made in fear, anxiety and distress. He wasn't mentally fit when he made that call; he wasn't emotionally ripe to choose a course of action that would affect Marissa's and Adriel's life forever. Today, years later, he was much wiser. After he had made himself an integral part of his son's life, he no longer had the right to keep the truth from him, especially now, after he had been given the chance to live out his life to the fullest.

A thought suddenly struck him, surprising him with a pleasant image: he could now play soccer with Adriel. He could now use his legs to run with his boy across the grassy yard behind their building and play with him. He could now be there for his son in a whole new way. He accepted the realization with a small chuckle that escaped his lips without restraint or thought as he pictured playing soccer with Adriel.

"What's so funny!" the little boy grunted grumpily and Hiro realized that he had laughed out loud. He shook his head, fighting back his smile.

"Nothing," he said simply, shrugging, unable to keep the smile away from his voice. "I was thinking about playing soccer."

"You missed the finals!" Adriel burst into shouting, upset to the point of angry tears. "You missed the semifinals, you missed the _finals_ , you missed my game _and_ you missed my _BIRTHDAY!_ " he yelled heatedly and his little voice was no longer chirpy, but hoarse and wounded. "You missed out on _everything!_ "

"I know... I'm sorry," Hiro mumbled honestly, bowing his head in shame. "I should have been there for all of it."

" _But?_ " Adriel demanded and Hiro looked up at his son again, confused. The boy was giving him an opening, but how could he possibly explain everything? He usually relied on Marissa to find the right words, phrasing things in a way that Adriel could comprehend, explaining his wrongdoings in a way that wouldn't hurt the boy's feelings. He was never good at that. He was too blunt, too honest. Sugarcoating issues was not one of his strengths. He even told his son there was no such thing as Santa, the Tooth Fairy or the Sandman. No wonder Marissa preferred to do all the talking.

"There's no 'but'," he finally confessed, sighing quietly. "I made a mistake. I was trying to help a friend... It didn't work out."

"You just left and you didn't even say goodbye!" Adriel accused in an offended, high-pitched voice. "My abuelita had to watch over me after school and you _know_ how she gets! She wouldn't come to _any_ of my soccer games, she didn't help me with my homework, _and_ she yelled at me at my party in front of _everyone_!"

Hiro didn't know what to say. He didn't know how to make up for all of that. Adriel was only concerned about how his everyday life was affected by things, as he very well should be. He shouldn't be concerned about the painful, complicated matters that brought on this whole mess. Children had a very narrow, very selfish, perspective on life and that was how it should be for any normal child. He wanted nothing less for his own son. Adriel _should_ be upset about how his daily routine has been shaken and it was his fault for bringing this disturbing instability to his son's life.

He didn't know how to explain himself to the boy. He didn't know how to make excuses like Marissa did. He had no idea how to fix his son's broken heart. All he could tell him was the truth, and he did not wish to burden and taint his child's innocence with such a terrible reality. And since words failed him as they often did, he chose to discard them altogether. He chose to disregard the past, and concentrate on bettering the future.

Slowly, Hiro knelt down on one bended knee, mindful of his recuperating left leg. Fighting off a heavy sense of awkwardness, he opened his arms to offer a hug, and waited.

Adriel stood his ground stubbornly, frowning at the man's open arms. Hiro waited patiently for his anger to subside. He looked at his son with sorrowful and hopeful eyes, sending him a silent apology. His child seemed to recognize it, for his features gradually softened and he finally ran towards him, straight into his welcoming arms. Hiro gathered the boy into a tight, loving and desperate embrace. He rested a gentle hand on the back of the boy's head and the other around his small backpack, carefully pushing him against his chest, bringing him deeper into the hug. The boy responded by wrapping his small arms around the slender man, hugging back.

"Don't ever leave like that again," the boy mumbled into his chest. Hiro could tell that the boy was crying, but trying to fight back the sobs. He hugged his son tighter.

"I won't," he promised softly.

"Next time you haffta go to the hospital just tell me... I promise I won't be mad. I already know you get sick sometimes... I don't like it when you and mom lie about it. I'm a big boy now, okay? I can take it."

Hiro bit back a small chuckle, pleased by his son's maturity.

"I know," he murmured softly and ran his hand through Adriel's smooth black hair. "And I'm not sick anymore," he assured him. "I'm getting better now," he added in a whisper and buried his face in his son's hair, breathing in his familiar earthy scent.

They remained embraced for a while longer. Hiro noted that Adriel was beginning to feel uncomfortable in the long and tight embrace; he fidgeted until Hiro got the hint and let go. He kept his hands on the boy's small shoulders as the child drew back half a step. They looked at each other quietly for a while.

Hiro flicked the child's nose playfully. "You _have_ grown," he commented quietly and his lips curled into a little smile. "I can hardly recognize you," he teased and earned a proud smile from his son.

"I'm seven and a _month!_ " Adriel announced proudly, but then his smile suddenly vanished. It was replaced by disappointment and hurt. Hiro realized why.

"I'm sorry I missed your birthday party," he apologized; "I never meant for this to happen."

Adriel bowed his head down sadly and shrugged awkwardly, embarrassed.

"How can I make it up to you?" Hiro asked, lifting Adriel's head gently by his chin. He gazed into his son's eyes, searching for his forgiveness.

The little boy thought it over for a moment. "Are you gonna move back to your old place?" he inquired warily; "Are you gonna take care of me after school again? And when mom's at work? Are you gonna come to my soccer game next week?"

Hiro leveled his gaze with Adriel's, and nodded decisively.

"I will," he promised firmly.

Adriel didn't quite seem to know how to respond to such direct honesty. He looked away, feeling awkward. For a while, they remained silent. Hiro was still kneeling on the floor in front of Adriel, looking at him with a lost expression on his face, while the child stared down at his shoes. When the moment became uncomfortable, Hiro finally succumbed to the need to break the stubborn silence and spoke up again:

"There's a rec room down the hall," he offered softly; "there's a TV, a game console... even some toys, I think."

Adriel looked up again, doubtful. "Mom said I haffta finish _all_ my homework or _else_..." he mumbled dejectedly, pointing a hand backwards at his school bag.

Hiro offered him a sympathetic smile. "There will be time for that later," he said and Adriel gaped at him as though he had just grown a second head.

"You mean we can do something _fun_ first?" the child marveled.

"Yes," Hiro confirmed and then Adriel gave him this funny look, as though he had sprouted a _third_ head.

"Oh man!" he whined, "Mom was right! You _did_ hit your head too hard!"

This time Hiro couldn't hold back and simply laughed. "Is that what she said?" he asked, chuckling.

Adriel nodded. "Yeah, that's why you're here, right?"

"More or less," he confirmed and finally moved to stand up, groaning quietly when his left knee protested with a creaking ache. "Come on," he encouraged and placed his hand on the boy's small back, guiding him out of the room. "Let's go see what kind of games they have over there."

"You think they have the one with the Gundams?" Adriel peeped eagerly, bouncing up and down as they walked. "Mom never lets me play it at home anymore," he complained scornfully. "She thinks it's stupid, but you get it, right?"

"Unfortunately yes," he confirmed with a sigh as they headed down the hall towards the rec-room.

"I only get to play it when I go to Danny's house, because his mom doesn't mind anything. You know Danny's dad use ta be a pilot? He said he saw the Gundams for real!"

"Did he now?" Hiro mumbled disdainfully. He turned to look down at the little boy, frowning. "Why are you obsessed with those things anyway?"

"I dunno!" Adriel announced, shrugging carelessly. "They're cool, I guess. Don't you like 'em too?"

"Not really."

"Then how come you designed the game?"

"Your mother needed the money."

The little boy frowned, confused. "You did it just to help mom?" he marveled.

"I did it to help a lot of people..." Hiro muttered vaguely. "That doesn't mean I liked it."

"I don't get it."

"Me neither," Hiro sighed, choosing not to divulge any further information to make his point clearer. He led Adriel into the recreation hall. There were TV sets, computers, bookcases packed with books and board games and whatnot. Adriel was thrilled to see it all. He immediately left Hiro's side and ran towards one of the videogame consoles.

"Cool!" he called out excitedly; "They got racing!" He waved one of the games at Hiro so he could see.

"Sounds _way_ better than mobile suit battles," he assured his son quietly and took a seat on one of the comfortable arm chairs under the window which overlooked the garden. Adriel started playing and his enthusiastic cries soon filled the recreation area. Hiro observed him silently, a gratified look shining in his eyes and a hint of a smile hovering over his lips. A sense of enlightenment suddenly overwhelmed him, filling his chest until his breath hitched in his throat.  The battles were behind him now, all of them. From now on, there was a different role for him to play. It was time to embrace it.

He was well again and he had his whole life ahead of him. He might even live long enough to see Adriel get married, have children... he might even become a grandfather one day— a _grandfather!_ The thought was _astounding!_ He quickly berated himself for even considering it, however for a split of a second he pictured himself an old man, gray and shriveled, surrounded by cheeky grandchildren. The image was staggering; he physically shook himself to get rid of it. It was absurd; he could never be a part of something like that. He was a rogue, a killer; a criminal and a victim. Marissa would call him both a sinner and a saint. Could it be that his future held so much promise? How could he have grown from an orphaned child who had nothing but the cursed breath in his lungs, to a man who had so many reasons to breathe and to live for?

It was inconceivable. He didn't deserve it; he could never truly be a part of such a fantastic future. And yet, somehow, despite the shock, the realization that he might one day become a part of something so normal, so intimate, so... _his_ , was very reassuring. He had the power to make that future happen; it was his choice. Finally.

There was no real need for him to continue feeling lost and detached. Over the past ten years he had created bonds; he created a family. He had placed his faith in people and learned that love and acceptance can work both ways. Faith in Marissa has taught him how to love; it taught him how to be a person worthy of love. Perhaps now the time has come for those bonds to finally be reconciled and affirmed. He could never be with Marissa the way she had once intended; he wasn't certain he could ever be with anyone that way, but he could still be a part of the family he had formed. To build himself a future, he must first stop hiding behind his scornful past. He must embrace what was to come, abandoning the role of either the rogue or the victim. His new role was to be a father to Adriel. He had fought and sacrificed so much to build a world where children could be free to grow up in peace. It was time to harvest the fruits of his labor and live the life he once fought to give others.

The epiphany was overwhelming. He felt both fulfilled and hollow at the same time: filled with purpose and a comforting sensation of having gained a new and deeper perspective on life, and empty with the mournful sense of regret for not reaching that understanding much sooner.

He looked up at Adriel and stubborn tears prickled his eyes. He blinked them away before they overcame him. It would take time to regain his control over his emotions once more. They raged inside him now, raising turmoil. He wanted to laugh and cry simultaneously. He wanted to gather Adriel into his arms, squeeze tight and never let go. Acceptance was both liberating and hurtful, but he was grateful to have finally achieved it nonetheless. Was it ironic that he had Duo to thank for it?

*             *             *

**To be continued in Chapter 18: Aftermath:**

Duo wobbled backwards, flabbergasted, his wide blue eyes watching the window in disbelief.

"What the Hell is going on!"

oOo

"Who was it?" she asked worriedly.

"Jerry," Hiro replied quietly. He turned to her slowly; his expression aghast. "Duo woke up... and he's taken hostages."

oOo

"Hey!" Jerry called after him, waving his gun; "Aren't you forgetting something?" He gestured with the gun at his bulletproof vest.

"Don't need it," Hiro muttered and walked into the lobby without looking back.

oOo

 

[1] The aforementioned plot is based on an _excellent_ GW fan fiction by Elle Writes: "[Heero Yuy, L6, and the Second Suit Wars](http://archiveofourown.org/works/989455/chapters/1952121)". I highly recommend it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:** One Week is soon coming to an end. I will be posting two chapters next week – Chapter 18 as well as the Epilogue. In addition, I will be offering a link to the complete eBook version of the story.  
>  Elle


	20. Chapter 18:Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's Note:** I am extremely nervous about posting this week. This is it. The last two chapters. Oh God...
> 
> To those precious few who stuck with this story 'til the very end, first of all – thank you! Needless to say, if you have any comments once you're done reading this story, your feedback will be greatly appreciated. I would love to hear your thoughts of this fan fiction novel as a whole.
> 
> So without further ado...

**One Week 20/21**

**Chapter 18: Aftermath**

Darkness; pitch black, but surprisingly pleasant. It was a soothing, all-encompassing haziness, tranquil and warm. He felt secure; shielded from harm like a fetus in his mother's womb. He hovered in this lulling state and relished in the feeling of being rocked gently, cradled in someone's protective arms and pressed against a warm body.

A familiar scent engulfed him; a potent odor of sweat, smoke and gunpowder mixed with faint traces of a generic laundry detergent. He then realized who was holding him and gasped sharply, surprised.

His world burst into hellish flames. Sharp pain twisted furiously in his gut; an unbearable pressure that cut him deep into his midsection. It was a terrible, shrilling agony; swirling inside, consuming everything.

"Jesus... fuck..." he groaned miserably as the pain intensified, building up exponentially and threatening to rupture in an explosive surge that would tear him apart. He groaned, excruciated by wave after wave of wretched agony. It hurt so fucking much! Moaning weakly, he turned his head aside, trying uselessly to escape the unbearable cramps twisting in his abdomen.

As he turned, his face collided with something solid and warm. He felt the touch of sweat-soaked fabric against his grimacing face. The arms holding him tightened around his trembling body, drawing him closer to a taut, muscular, chest. He inhaled sharply, trying to control the traitorous pain that wringed helpless moaning out of him. He breathed in the familiar scent of the person carrying him and tried to comfort himself with the thought that he was being held by this person. He had done nothing in his life to deserve such devotion.

The pain became too much. He surrendered to the darkness thankfully, allowing it to take away his aches. When his consciousness resurfaced, the gut-wrenching twinge was gone. His body was numb, heavy and tingling – sedated. His eyes were closed. He could tell that he was someplace bright, because he could see a white halo behind his closed eyelids. A clean, sterile smell of disinfectants was in the air, burning unpleasantly under his nose. It smelled like a hospital.

He fought the need to slip back into slumber and opened his eyes instead. After blinking a few times, his vision finally adjusted to the bright room. The first thing he saw was a newspaper: spread open and held by a person hidden behind it, seated on a chair by his bed. The headline read:  **"CAPTURED GUNDAM PILOT ESCAPED OZ CUSTODY"**  and beneath it was a photo of him hanging limply from the iron grip of two burly OZ officers. He looked like a miserable piece of shit.

The newspaper rustled as the person behind it turned a page, still hidden behind the large sheet of paper. Duo studied the hands gripping the paper by its opposite sides. They were thin, coarse hands; peeling dead-skin and black dirt clung to the frame of each fingernail. The one on the right thumb was chipped and broken, slashed vertically all the way across. There was scarring just above the knuckles: three round white blisters marred the skin, easily recognizable as years' old cigarette burns. He never noticed them before, despite them always being in plain sight. Now, he couldn't take his eyes off of them. Something inside him twitched uneasily at the blunt evidence of abuse.

Those tortured hands were capable of the impossible, perhaps because they've been pushed so hard, abused so cruelly. And yet, they were still capable of kindness. Those arms killed and maimed and still had the capacity to hold him gently as they carried him to safety. If he ever doubted their devotion, those hands have just proven their dependability once and for all. Today he knew: he had found a brother in arms.

The person behind the newspaper straightened it before folding it down, finally exposing his face. Duo looked up to meet the blank expression on Heero's stoic boyish features. The teenage pilot was dressed in the same plain bright-blue turtleneck shirt and dark trousers he had last seen him in. The garments were tarnished with filth and blood, torn and reeking of the scents he had inhaled earlier.

Duo looked up again and met Heero's calm blue eyes. He managed to crack a smile of greeting on his numb face, but immediately regretted it when his broken nose wailed in protest. He winced and then his left eye exploded with pain, reminding him of a nasty black eye he had also suffered.

"Jesus Christ..." he groaned, grimacing; "Be honest with me here," he croaked with a screechy, nasal voice as he turned to look up at Heero with mock-piteous eyes; "Am I gonna haffta walk around with a paper bag over my head?"

A hint of disapproval creased Heero's otherwise stony face. "You should be less concerned about vanity, and more worried about the internal damage you've suffered," he rebuked coolly, speaking with a quiet, steady tone. He was responding way too seriously to a mere joke, but Duo could tell that Heero had picked up on his black-humor: the Wing pilot's eyes weren't as hard as they would have been if he was scolding him for real.

He attempted another cocky smile, but failed miserably; his face hurt too damn much.

"Hmm... yeah, probably," he said instead; "It got pretty nasty after the sedatives wore off... Still, it'd be easier to charm my way outta shit with a pretty face and busted organs rather than the other way around..." he tried to joke again, but he had spoken too much, too soon, and so his body protested with a fierce coughing fit that wracked through him violently. Each cough rocked his insides, stirring the pain in his midsection.

"Hn," Heero let out a criticizing grunt and stood up, setting the newspaper aside and stepping closer to the bed. Duo squirmed under the painful assault seething through him, coughing and gasping loudly. He watched with gaping bleary eyes as Heero placed the palms of his hands on his lower abdomen, and pushed down gently each time he coughed, countering the motion. It helped; the pain was more bearable that way. After a few moments, the fit subsided and Duo slumped gratefully against the bed.

The Wing pilot settled back into the chair, looking at him evenly. Duo returned his pensive gaze with his own. They stared at each other awkwardly. Duo tried to recall if he has ever seen Heero act so... so... human? No, that wasn't it. Heero was as human as they come, he just hid it better than most; it wasn't fair to call him inhuman. Whatever the adjective was, Duo knew one thing for certain: something has changed between them, softened somewhat. He wasn't as tense as he usually was in the Perfect Soldier's presence.

"We're in that L1 hospital you were tellin' me about?" He finally broke the silence with a rhetorical question. He recalled Heero mentioning something about a hospital he could go to if ever in need of medical assistance.

"Yes," Heero surprised him by confirming the obvious; he never bothered doing such a thing before. "You required surgery," he even elaborated; "We have allies here. They were ordered to help."

Duo frowned. "And you actually stuck around for that?" he asked, astonished by the kind gesture.

Heero was now scowling at him. "I have to debrief you," he muttered an excuse and Duo smirked knowingly.

"Call it what you want, but I think I just might end up making a person outta you, soldier-boy."

"You got me into more than enough trouble already," Heero muttered in dismay and turned to look the other way, suddenly uncomfortable; Duo could tell, because the young pilot's hands, which rested stretched tensely forward on his thighs, clenched into tight fists.

"Hey man, I didn't ask you to come get me," he admonished defensively. "You coulda just left me there... or killed me, whatever. I never told 'em nuthin'. My secrets woulda died with me. They mighta cracked ma face, but they'd never crack me, so... yeah. You coulda pulled that trigger, no hard feelings or nuthin'."

Heero turned to face him again; his gaze was intense, unreadable and therefore unnerving. Duo hated it when he couldn't see past the soldier-pretense; it meant that, in spite of everything they've been through together, Heero still didn't trust him enough to let him peek freely behind the iron mask.

"I didn't talk, and I didn't pick up on anything helpful either," he insisted, but Heero's hard expression didn't waver. What was he accusing him of? He couldn't figure out what more could Heero possibly want from him!

"Are we done here?" he snapped in a stroppy tone.

"I didn't want you to die," Heero suddenly said; his tone was quiet, careful and reserved as though he was speaking words of blasphemy. He shifted his gaze down to stare at the floor. Duo gaped at him in a stupor. That was twice in one day that Heero was being to oddly frank with him! He wasn't used to such blunt honesty being offered so freely, not without holding a loaded gun aimed at Heero as part of their Truth or Dare game. Heero was being strangely talkative... Did he worry him so much that the usually apathetic pilot felt that he had to be _nice_  to him? That was unreal. He wondered how far this honesty would go...

Slowly, Duo raised a wobbly hand up and gestured a finger-gun at Heero. The Wing pilot looked up and stared firmly at the gestured gun.

"Why?" Duo asked tensely, hoping that Heero will abide by their game despite the lack of a real pistol. "Why do I matter to you?"

Heero sat still, his fists clasped, staring blankly at the "gun" aimed at him. After a tense moment, the stiffness dissipated from his taut arms and his shoulders slumped slightly, relaxing. Duo also noted that he his fists weren't clenched so tightly anymore.

"I don't know," Heero confessed and exhaled a long sigh. He lifted a hand and ran it through his messy bangs, turning his head aside to face the window. He gazed at the view silently for a moment, before adding:

"You just do." Heero turned slowly to face him again. "Isn't that enough?"

"More than enough," Duo whispered softly and tried to wipe the silly grin off his face. He placed his arm back down on the bed. Another silent pause fell over the small hospital room as both boys avoided each other's eyes.

The door opened. The two looked up simultaneously and saw a female doctor enter the room. She was a tall, slender and exceptionally well-groomed Asian woman in her mid-forties. Her sharp porcelain-white features were set in a hard, cold, expression. She was dressed in a white lab-coat, elegant black high-heel shoes and her long black hair was gathered in a tight up-do. She was holding a patient's chart pressed against her chest. A small golden tag on her doctor's uniform read  _'Dr. Shimura'_. The second she laid her eyes on Heero he shot up from his seat and stood at attention: arms fixed at his side, chin up, chest out, shoulders back and eyes front, fixated on a distant object.

Duo frowned at Heero's extreme reaction. In an instant the boy he had just spoken with was gone, replaced by the soldier's stone-hard presence. He had only seen this drastic change once, when he happened to be in their dorm-room when Dr. J contacted Heero via videophone with an urgent mission. The Wing pilot's reaction to the old fart left little room for interpretation: his total obedience came from utter terror rather than conventional military discipline.

Dr. Shimura studied the two teenage boys with a pair of ruthless black eyes. She eyed Duo in disgust before laying her eyes on the Wing pilot once more.

"You  _stink_ ," she snapped at him irately; "I thought I told you to wash-up and stay in your room," she berated.

Duo grinded his teeth angrily. What the fuck? The bitch was rebuking the  _Perfect Soldier_ as though he was a small child!

"Yes sir," Heero replied curtly without ever diverting his eyes from a vague spot on the wall.

"Then why are you still here?" Shimura questioned with an ominous, critical tone. Heero tensed even more, his fists clenched so tight around his thumb that the poor digit was turning red; otherwise, he remained perfectly still.

"Debriefing, sir," he gave the same excuse as before.

The Japanese woman rolled her eyes, not buying it. She turned to Duo, scowling darkly.

"Do you have anything to report?" she asked snippily.

"No ma'am," Duo replied smoothly, smiling like a Cheshire cat as he deliberately called her  _Ma'am_ instead of  _Sir_. Heero was still standing at attention, staring ahead at the wall, but Duo could sense his tension; the Wing pilot was no doubt shocked that he dared rub her the wrong way.

Dr. Shimura smacked her lips in annoyance and turned to look at the patient chart in her hand, skimming over it with hard black eyes. A slow, sinister, smirk twisted her harsh features. She studied the chart, nodding her head thoughtfully.

"It looks like we're going to be spending some time together," she informed Duo haughtily and tucked the chart under her arm. "I suggest you mind your manners."

"Always do, ma'am," he smiled cockily.

Annoyed, she ignored him and turned to Heero again. The young pilot was still standing at attention, looking past her at the opposite wall.

"I hear you're going by Heero now?" she muttered scornfully and came to stand before him, looking at Heero as though examining an insect she intended to crush.

"Yes sir," he hurried to confirm.

Shimura sneered nastily. "So J has finally named his pet," she taunted with a dark smile. Heero said nothing, but Duo noted how his back tensed even more if at all possible. He glared angrily at the woman, but kept his mouth shut; he had a feeling it would be better to stay out of it, for Heero's sake.

The doctor ignored his ruthless gaze and kept her merciless gaze solely on Heero.

"What's it been – two years since you blew up half the colony?" she snarled poisonously.

"One block, sir," Heero corrected meekly, never shifting his eyes towards the woman standing before him. He was looking straight past her, avoiding her hateful eyes.

"One hundred and thirty two innocent civilians," Shimura reminded him coldly.

"Yes sir," he agreed, lowering his eyes to the floor.

She scoffed infuriatedly and took a step towards him, looking him up and down in disdain. Duo noted How Heero's clenched fists trembled slightly before he clenched them even harder, stopping the anxious motion.

"You've grown," Shimura observed dryly, eyeing him like a bug; " _Some_ what," she added derisively, blaming him for something that couldn't possibly be his fault.

"Yes sir," Heero agreed nonetheless; his voice faltered ever so slightly. She was offending him, Duo could tell. Why was Heero taking it lying down?

"I would have expected you to grow taller by now," she rebuked; "but you were always a late bloomer."

Heero's eyes finally fell to the floor. His shoulders slumped ever so slightly, but noticeably enough. "Yes sir... Sorry sir."

"All that effort they put into retraining you and you  _still_  look like the filthy little  _mutt_  they dragged in here two years ago."

Heero kept his head bowed, staring wretchedly at the floor. "Yes sir..." he mumbled, sighing.

Shimura slapped him; she swung hard and fast, flinging Heero's head aside forcefully. Heero didn't turn his head back again, knowing better than to move before he was told.

"Don't talk back to me, boy!" she snapped.

"I wasn't trying to, sir," he replied in a deadpan manner.

She slapped him again, harder this time. He actually wobbled a bit. The smack resonated loudly off his already reddened cheek.

"I will not tolerate insubordination!"

Heero straightened back again and resumed standing upright assertively, his head and eyes locked in a fixed forward posture. He didn't budge, but his fists were still clenched tightly. He was angry, but helpless. "Yes sir," he acknowledged; "It won't happen again, sir."

Knowing better than to interfere, Duo just stared, dumbfounded by what he saw. Heero could easily take the woman down without even breaking a sweat, yet he chose to take the abuse passively. He never saw Heero act this way: his eyes always lowered to the floor and never quite meeting Shimura's eyes. He seemed... weak, somehow; childlike and... afraid? That coldblooded bitch seemed to have an appalling ability to regress Heero back into an uncertain little boy. Shimura must be one sick fuck if Heero was this scared of her.

Dr. Shimura's hand flew up and grabbed the young pilot by his chin, lifting his head up forcefully as she leaned into his face, glaring scornfully.

"I heard you tried to kill yourself after I discharged you," she hissed into his face.

"Yes sir," he confirmed quietly, struggling to keep looking past her as she towered over him, her grip crushing his chin.

"What gave you the right to wash all my hard work down the drain?" she demanded coldly, shaking his head roughly with each word.

Heero said nothing. He kept his mouth shut, lips pressed tautly. His eyes burnt with silent defiance as he continued staring aside mutely. Shimura snorted in disgust.

"I don't get what J sees in you," she muttered and released her firm grip on his chin, pushing his head back carelessly. "You think you're  _so bad_ , don't you, boy?"

Heero shook his head slowly, eyes lowered to the floor. "No sir," he mumbled.

"On your knees!" she commanded coldly and Heero gaped at her, clearly mortified. He hesitated only for a second more, glimpsing nervously at Duo, before doing what he was told. Duo felt his face burn red with fury as he watched Heero kneel in front of the woman, standing on his knees while keeping his head down submissively.

" _Down_ ," she ordered impatiently. Heero glanced at Duo uneasily, then back at the floor. Slowly, he leaned his arms forward until he was standing on his hands and knees in front of Shimura, keeping his head down. He could feel Duo's stunned gaze on him and closed his eyes, ashamed.

"Remember this humiliation, boy, and remember your place," Shimura snarled coldly, reveling in his degradation.

"Yes sir," he whispered, facing the floor. "My apologies, sir."

Duo couldn't stay quiet for a second more! Despite the pain raging in his belly, he pushed off the bed and sat up, glaring spitefully at the woman.

"You fucked up piece a shit!" he spat the words out in disgust; "You'd be fucking dead if I were him! Heero – get da fuck up! Da fuck are you lettin' her talk shit to you like that!?"

"Quite a sassy little friend you got yourself," Shimura droned derisively, scowling down at Heero's bowed head. His messy bangs dangled down, obscuring his eyes.

"At least the last  _rodent_  you dragged in here kept its  _mouth shut_."

"It was a puppy..." Heero mumbled quietly, still on all fours and staring submissively at the floor.

"What was that?!" Shimura warned dangerously.

Heero closed his eyes regretfully. "Nothing... sir."

Shimura sprung a leg up and dug her pointed high heel shoe under the boy's chin, nudging it upwards. Heero raised his head slightly, but kept his gaze on the wall behind her.

"It was a  _dead_  puppy," she corrected him harshly, swinging her leg up and down, bobbing his head forcefully with each word; "And I had to pry its  _stinking corpse_  out of your _filthy_  little hands, you little  _fuck_. If you're going to talk back to me, boy, at least make it accurate," she snapped irately and let go of his head; he let it drop lifelessly, keeping his face lowered to the floor.

"...yes sir," he whispered tamely. Thus ended his pathetic attempt to retaliate. Duo was stunned to the point of outrage.

"Heero!" he called in disbelief. "You can't let this bitch treat you this way! Da fuck is wrong with you!? Why are you lettin' her do this?!"

"Because unlike you L2- _rat_ ,  _this_  one knows his place," Shimura answered in Heero's stead. She drew a small tablet computer out of her lab coat and tapped it forcefully on Heero's head.

"Orders from J," she informed him offhandedly; "Sit boy, read."

"Yes sir," Heero complied quickly. He took the tablet and prepared to get up.

"No one told you to stand, boy," Shimura smirked darkly and he froze, staring at her with wretched blues.

"Please don't make me crawl, sir," he asked quietly.

Shimura sneered, pleased. "You have your orders, boy. Save yourself further humiliation and do as you're told before you're punished. This is your last warning, boy."

"Yes sir," Heero mumbled meekly and knelt back down. Duo gawked, speechless, as the boy crawled to the far end of the room, taking the tablet with him. He settled on the floor in the corner of the room and began reading whatever orders he'd been handed.

" _You_ ," the doctor turned to finally address him, glaring at him poisonously.

"You talkin' to me, doc?" he retorted spitefully.

"Don't get  _cocky_  with me,  _rat_ ," she hissed frostily. "Not only did you botch up a perfectly  _simple_  mission, but you also dragged our operative into your  _damn_   _mess_. Zero One has an unfortunate tendency to pick up  _trash_  off the streets and drag back in here," Shimura muttered scornfully as she directed her detestable gaze at Heero. The young pilot kept his gaze focused on the tablet computer, avoiding her harsh eyes.

"I told J he was being too lenient. Your former master knew how to handle you... saw you for what you  _really_ are. J got sloppy and now look at you! You forgot your place, disobeyed orders. You're insubordinate and capricious. You've turned into a bad dog, boy. Do you remember what happens to bad dogs? Is this piece of L2-trash really worth it?"

Heero said nothing. He sat huddled in the corner of the room, keeping his eyes focused solely on the tablet. Duo watched in stunned silence, his heart bleeding. Fuck, it hurt to see Heero like this! It wasn't right, but it made sense in some sick way. How else could one keep the  _Perfect Soldier_ in check? The boy could easily kill Shimura if she ever let her control over him slip. Heero was dangerous; extremely volatile at times. He would act impulsively, following what his heart dictated all too often. Obedience was the only thing that must have kept him in line, but such total submission was hard to achieve when he was over a thousand hundred miles away. A whole new world was opened to him once he was sent to Earth, away from their reach.  _Good_ , Duo mused; that meant that there was hope for Heero yet.

"Gear-up, boy," he heard Shimura order Heero briskly; "You leave in one hour, got it?"

"Yes sir," Heero murmured, leaning over the tablet to avoid her strict black eyes. "One hour, sir."

The woman turned back to Duo, glaring hatefully. "As for  _you_ ," she hissed scornfully; "I will deal with you  _rat_  later."

Duo caught Heero's alarmed glance before the boy quickly turned back at the tablet, pretending to be engrossed in it. He didn't want Shimura to catch him looking. Duo glared hatefully at the woman.

"I look forward to it,  _ma'am,_ " he droned cheekily, highlighting his Southern accent to sound even more disdainful.

Shimura snorted crudely and then finally left the room. Only when the door closed behind her did Heero relax. He rose back to his feet slowly, avoiding Duo's eyes; he was embarrassed. He approached the bed carefully, holding the tablet computer in his hand and keeping his eyes on the screen.

"Pleasant lady," Duo commented cynically; "Home sweet home, huh?"

Heero didn't respond. Duo didn't expect an explanation to the humiliation he had just witnessed. It was better to let it drop for now; they had bigger fish to fry. Still, he made a mental note to address the issue some other time, perhaps during their next Truth or Dare game... if they ever get the leisure time. They had to talk about this. He had to make sure Heero knew he was more than that psycho's  _dog_!

"New orders?" Duo asked instead, doing his best to ignore the elephant in the room. It was better to sweep this matter under the rug and move on to something Heero was comfortable with: the mission.

"Yes," the Wing pilot confirmed quietly and glanced back at the tablet computer, studying intelligence photos.

"Care to share?"

"The Lunar Base," Heero replied simply.

"You gotta be shittin' me," Duo moaned.

Heero shook his head to indicate that he wasn't kidding.

"That place is a fucking fortress!" he exclaimed; "It's crawling with Ozzies!"

"Doctor J believes that a large amount of Gundanium alloy is being brought into the Lunar Base factory," Heero explained. "They're probably building a new type of mobile suit. It's a search and destroy."

"I have a bad feeling about this," Duo sighed; "This shit ain't right. He's sending you straight into OZ territory, alone... without your suit. It's too dangerous. I'm coming with you."

"No, you're not," Heero insisted; "Stay here. Get some rest, get better."

"Oh yeah,  _sure_... leave me here with that  _psycho-bitch_  of yours. I rather take my chances on the moon – thank you very much!"

"You will only get in my way."

"Da fuck's that?!" Duo snapped heatedly and then cringed in pain, falling back against the bed. "Dammit," he cursed; "It might take me a while to recover from this fucked-up shit, but dammit, man! How about being a little kinder to me every once in a while?"

That was a stupid slip-up. After what he had just witnessed, after all Heero had done for him in spite of the way he was used to being treated, how could he possibly accuse him of being unkind? Considering the mistreatment Heero was accustomed to, he was probably the kindest person Duo knew. He felt like a total jerk. He was no better than  _her_ , but he will be, for Heero.

"You need time to recuperate," Heero continued calmly, ignoring Duo's accusation. If he was offended, he never let it show. Maybe he didn't think there was anything wrong with the way he was being treated. The notion hurt even more than witnessing the abuse itself. At that moment, Duo made a personal vow to stick by his decision no matter what. He will be a friend to Heero; the best friend he could possibly be!

"I've enrolled in a local school under your name," Heero informed him; "You should take it easy for a while."

"You call going to school  _easy?_ " Duo rolled his eyes. "I take Ozzies over bitchy high-school  _punks_  any day!" he grunted while touching his broken nose, testing to see if it was still tender. It was. He sighed and put his hand back down, his shoulders slumping tiredly.

"This sucks!" He grumbled sullenly. "You can't just leave me here with  _her_... Let me come with. I'll be your getaway driver... I'll wait in the shuttle and stay outta your hair..." he offered, but Heero left him behind anyway. He remained in his empty hospital room, helplessly worrying over his best friend.

After Heero left, Duo dragged his sorry-ass to the window and sat on its wide ledge, looking out at the L1 colony stretched before him. The hospital overlooked a large green park, with a wide round fountain in its center, from which rose a tall stone pillar and on top of it: the American flag. Up ahead, at the far edge of the park, stood a beautiful Japanese Shinto shrine.

L1 looked nothing like where he came from. It was a suburban paradise floating in the blackness of space, full of vegetation and beautiful, affluent, quiet neighborhoods that featured well-groomed lawns and single-family detached homes. He couldn't help but feel a bit jealous of Heero for growing up here while he had scavenged the streets of L2 for food, cigarettes and drugs. Then again, he never would have exchanged his hardships for the brutal life Heero must have endured while living in this fancy hellhole, treated like a damn pet. Better an L2-rat than an L1-dog...

He winced, recalling how Shimura had forced Heero to crawl on his hands and knees. Shit, that was cruel. God damned bitch! He thought Dr. J was bad, but that lady took it to a whole new level. He felt bad for Heero, he really did. He hoped the Wing pilot will make it out of the lunar base in one piece so he could show him that it wasn't right being treated this way. He had to make Heero see that he should fight for himself, not just for others.

Exhausted, Duo finally retired to bed. His sleep was a restless one, plagued with unseen demons moving through a black, empty, space. He couldn't see or feel anything around him. There was nothing there. The only thing that existed was a strong male voice vibrating all around him:

 

_Our Father in Heaven,_

_hallowed be your name,_

_your kingdom come,_

_your will be done,_

_on Earth as it is in Heaven._

_Give us today our daily bread._

_And forgive us our debts,_

_as we also have forgiven our debtors._

_And lead us not into temptation,_

_but deliver us from the evil one._

 

It was Father Maxwell. His voice faded away slowly, dissolving into another strong male voice:

 

_Through this Holy Unction,_

_and through the great_

_goodness of His mercy,_

_may God pardon thee whatever_

_sins thou hast committed_

_by evil use of sight, speech and touch._

_May the Lord pardon thee whatever_

_sins or faults thou hast committed._

 

It was a priest, delivering someone's Last Rites.

The voices faded into silence.

Nothing else existed, just darkness.

Then, a faint whisper:

_I'll forget this, Duo..._

_I promise._

 

It was Heero's voice; weak, hurting. So much hurt... Oh God, why? What happened? Heero...

_Forgive and forget..._

_Like it never happened..._

 

Memories were obliterated by Heero's voice, swept far away by a powerful wind. Only one thing remained – a final promise:

_No matter what,_

_you'll always be my first,_

_and only,_

_true_

_f_ _riend_

Duo awoke with a tear-soaked face, but he had no idea why. There was a heavy, unbearable sadness in his heart. Nightmares, probably.

He was still lying in his hospital bed. His stomach ached dully, but not as bad as before. Groaning, he sat up on the bed. He inhaled a long, quivering breath and released it with a sigh. His temples pulsed and his head hurt terribly. He felt saggy, drained... and strangely out of place.

He reached his left hand up to push his long, sweaty bangs out of his face. He then rubbed the tears away from his sore eyes. His fingers brushed over the bridge of his nose and he stopped, surprised: it didn't hurt.

Frowning, he withdrew his hand from his face. His eyes widened in alarm when he got a first good look at it. There was a grisly, black inked tattoo running across his entire left arm. He gawked at it, dazed by the unusual sight.

"What da Hell?" he whispered hoarsely as he lifted his arm up, flexing his fingers repeatedly, testing if it was really a part of him. It was!

"Jesus..." he muttered gruffly. Was this someone's idea of a joke? Did Heero do this for a laugh? It wasn't funny! No, that can't be. Heero was sent to the lunar base... Was it that freaky Shimura lady then? Was that her idea of "getting back" at him? What the Hell! Why would she tattoo his arm?!

He flung the blanket aside and tore the IV line from his tattooed arm. Placing his bare feet on the cold floor, he looked down— and froze. His feet... they were... bigger? They looked so...  _not_  his. Why was he so hairy?

He raised both hands to his face, turning them slowly as he examined them with a frown. Those were  _not_  his hands! They were someone else's arms... they had to be! Those were  _not_ the arms of a fifteen year-old, not unless he had some freakish growth spurt while he was asleep!

Panicked, he quickly flung both arms up, feeling around the back of his head. He gasped, flinching back. His braid was gone! Someone chopped off his precious braid!

"Oh God..." he mumbled shakily, looking around the room with frantic cobalt blue eyes. What happened to him?

His gaze fell on the open window. He stood up shakily and walked towards it slowly, dazed. His breath hitched in his throat when he pulled a plain white curtain aside and took a look at the view: blue skies, the sun hiding behind white clouds, a green garden and tall skyscrapers in the near horizon. This was  _not_  L1... it was Earth; he was on fucking  _Earth!_

Duo wobbled backwards, flabbergasted, his wide blue eyes watching the window in disbelief.

"What the Hell is going on!"

*             *             *

Marissa's keys jingled softly as she took them out of her hefty handbag and reached to unlock her apartment door. She was dressed in her light-blue maid's uniform. Soft morning light poured into the hallway, shining on her curly locks. Her wavy brown hair was disheveled after a long and strenuous nightshift at the prestigious hotel in which she worked. She was trying to apply for a management position, which meant taking on more shifts and working longer hours – not an easy task for a single mother, but when Hiro went missing she realized that she couldn't count on his support forever; she had to try make something more of herself if she ever wanted to give Adriel the life he deserved.

Hiro stood next to her, watching her quietly, enthralled by the way the light played on her frizzy hair, brightening a few stray locks until that they seemed almost golden. He was dressed simply in a pair of jeans and a black sweatshirt hanging sloppily from his unhealthily slim frame. He was holding the small bag Marissa had brought him during his hospitalization.

Two weeks have passed since he woke up at the ward. After many recurring checkups, Dr. Grabelsky finally approved his discharge, warning him to take it easy for a while and not to overload himself with work straight away. Duo remained at the ward, still comatose. The good doctor promised to update him immediately if there was any change.

Marissa insisted on picking him up from the hospital. She even borrowed her brother's car for the occasion, unwilling that he'd travel by taxi. Knowing her, Hiro supposed that she wanted his ride home to feel special; to feel like he was really coming back to a  _home_  – a term he had learned to appreciate thanks to years of her absolute devotion.

During his stay at the hospital, Hiro contacted their landlord to inquire about moving back into his old apartment. The man didn't object, but informed him that the apartment wasn't ready for him to move in yet. Since it became vacant for the first time in years, the landlord used the opportunity to renovate the place before renting it out again, which worked in Hiro's favor because the landlord agreed to lease it to him once again once the renovation was complete. Marissa insisted that in the meanwhile, Hiro should stay with Adriel and her; she wouldn't take no for an answer.

Marissa opened the door and waited for Hiro to step in. He hesitated for a moment, feeling awkward. He's been in this situation before and it made him feel a bit uneasy. The last time Marissa took him into her home, they ended up with a child who changed them in an irreversible way. He trusted that such a thing will not happen again, but still he felt apprehensive as he stepped into the small apartment, mainly because old feelings resurfaced over the past couple of weeks.

He stopped a few steps away from the door and stared dully at the living room. He spotted Adriel's videogame console lying discarded on the coffee table. The boy's toys were scattered all over the living room, next to piles of unfolded laundry. The place was a mess, which was very unlike Marissa – she ran a household like a staff-sergeant ran a unit. It was a painful indication of how the past two and a half months affected her everyday life.

Marissa closed the door and came to stand next to him. They stood close, facing one another. Their breathing came out loud and heavy in the silence engulfing the apartment. They gazed into each other's eyes anxiously. Hiro held the bag tightly in his fist.

A tense and all-knowing silence pounded in their ears with every racing heartbeat. Marissa stood before Hiro quietly, waiting for him to make the first move. He could tell that they were both thinking the same thing, but he knew that she won't act on her feelings unless he gave his explicit consent.

His eyes were drawn to the golden cross necklace resting over her bountiful chest. His fist tightened unconsciously around the bag's strap. He was staring lengthily at Marissa's cleavage, but he could not tear his eyes away. He didn't even realize that he had moved his hand up, until he touched the delicate piece of jewelry. Mesmerized, he fondled the small golden cross between his bony fingers, appreciating the sight of it gleaming under the soft morning light.

It was comforting to know that even after all he had put her through Marissa was still wearing his gift. The gesture touched his heart where only she could touch it. He was still important to her; Marissa still valued him, despite all the wrongs he had done. He was grateful for it. Thanks to her unconditional acceptance, he no longer regarded his life as something cheap.

Marissa studied him tensely, breathless, as he stroked the golden pendant above her chest. She quivered as the tip of his fingers brushed against her hot skin. Her breasts moved heavily up and down with each breath. She knew that she should step away, they both should, but she could not make a move. She relished in his feathery and tentative touch. She needed him... She needed him to prove to her that he truly did come back from the dead.

Hiro shifted his gaze up slowly. He looked into Marissa's eyes silently. His Prussian blue eyes shimmered guiltily, wordlessly conveying his need for her as well. Marissa returned his shamefaced gaze with sympathetic eyes. She accepted his request silently, reaching for his hand. She held his hand gently and she guided him into her bedroom.

For a split second, just as they fell against her bed, a flicker of reason informed Hiro that they will most likely regret it later. He ignored it; wishing for nothing more than to drown himself in something feral and liberating; something familiar and accommodating, something that would finally reassert that he was truly alive, not merely

No words were exchanged. It all came so naturally; familiar and comforting. They made love as though the past eight years never happened. It was the first time in a long while, for the both of them. Their lovemaking was clumsy and desperate; hot, ravenous and breathless. They were both hungry for touch, for the blood to pump through their veins as their hearts raced and their breath came out short and raspy. Aching to feel the rush of life course through them, they moved hastily against each other, panting avidly as they merged.

For a few precious moments, Hiro was able to forget all about his troubles. All he could think about was the feeling of Marissa's hot flesh against him, the taste of her skin and the intoxicating scents of her body. He moved urgently, desperate for her femininity to erase his shame, to obliterate any trace of what Duo did to him. He needed her to remind him what it felt like to be a man again. He needed her to make him strong again.

She answered his needs eagerly, empowering him with her every move and gesture, every gasp of pleasure. She called out loudly as she came, venting out weeks of accumulating anxiety and stress. She wrapped her strong, muscular legs around his lean waist, drawing him closer, deeper, as she buckled beneath him. He thrust into her in an animalistic pace; ignoring his body's cries of protest as he overexerted himself. His stamina was hardly what it used to be and he collapsed against her, panting heavily. He buried his face between her ample bosoms, earning a few more precious moments of peace before he will be forced to face her again and deal with the aftermath of their actions.

As the autumn sun rose to a high noon position, pouring brightly through the blinds in Marissa's bedroom, the couple lay embraced between tangled sheets, basked in the sweaty afterglow of sex. Marissa lay huddled against Hiro, cradled in his arms as he ran his fingers absentmindedly up and down the small of her back. His gaze was fixed on the window, staring idly at the dark blinds against the bright light.

Marissa's head rested on his chest; she indulged in the steady sound of his heartbeat. She smiled, gratified. She was finally assured that he was really there, more alive than she had seen him in years. She moved her head up to look at his face. He seemed to be deep in thought. She knew better than to pry, so she looked back down and nuzzled her face in his slightly hairy chest, enjoying his warmth and closeness. She closed her eyes, inhaling his sweaty scent deeply and letting out with a content sigh.

Adriel's school day will be over soon. She told her son that Hiro will be staying with them for a while, and the little boy was excited to see him. He made her promise to bring Hiro along when they picked him up from school. She didn't ask Hiro about it yet and now would probably be the right time, for he seemed to be in a tranquil mood; a kind of serenity she hadn't seen on his face in years.

"I gave it some thought," Hiro's quiet voice surprised her when he suddenly broke the contemplative silence. She looked up and he turned his head down to look at her; his gaze was calm and firm.

"I want to tell Adriel."

Marissa had to stifle a smile. She's been waiting for so long to hear him say those words, but she didn't wish to push him away by showing her eagerness. In her mind, images of the three of them sitting around the dinner table as a family flickered as hazily as a dream. She turned her head up to look at him, meeting his eyes. Nothing changed in the way he was looking at her; he wasn't about to profess his undying love to her, nor did she wish for him to do it. They were past that and they both knew it. She had hooked up with other men and he had never expressed any objection, even when he once saw her parting with her date in front of their building just when he was making his way home after walking Chowder. She had seen women leave his apartment on a few mornings as she left for work, back in the days when he was still in the habit of drinking himself to a state of obliviousness.

Jealousy was never a part of their relationship and having sex again didn't mean anything beyond a fleeting moment of passionate release. What Hiro was offering now was far more precious.

She studied his face quietly, taking her time before forming a proper response. Despite the grim traces his illness has left on his pale and gaunt features, she still found him to be so very handsome. His soulful blue eyes glimmered vividly and ever so brightly. Marissa recognized the look in his eyes; it was the same look she had seen gleam so brilliantly in the Prussian blue orbs the day they practiced his walking in the pool at the ward: Hiro's soul has been returned to him. He found his strength and resolve again. He won yet another dire struggle, achieving the impossible as only he could.

She smiled softly, joyful beyond words. Despite being put through Hell once more, Hiro prevailed. He regained his will to live. Even more so, he was finally willing to live his life as Adriel's father. It was more than she could ever hope for. She opened her mouth to speak, wishing to tell him how proud she was of him, but then a phone suddenly rang, cutting violently through the pleasant silence. The ringing was coming from the other room.

"It's mine," Hiro let out with a quiet sigh and prepared to get out of bed.

"Ignore it," she asked and reached a hand up to stop him. Hiro didn't heed her request and got up anyway. He walked, stark naked, out of the bedroom and into the living room to retrieve his bag.

Marissa sighed, exasperated. Hiro could never disregard something that called for his action. His sense of duty was too dominant for him to ignore. When it came to his commitments and responsibilities, Hiro was amenable and as punctual as a clock: he always paid child support and rent on time; he even paid Adriel's monthly tuition a year in advance and if she ever needed his aid in any matter regarding their son, he always came through for them.

Why, back when she had first moved next door to him, when Adriel was only two years old, she could come knocking on his door in the middle of the night, holding a feverish and screaming baby-Adriel and ask him for his help; Hiro never refused her. If he had to go to the pharmacy at 2 a.m. and buy medicine, formula or diapers for their son, he did. As long as it was a practical assignment, Hiro had no problem executing it immaculately.

His devotion was commendable, but at times he could take it a bit too far; like getting out of bed minutes after a profound experience just to answer a damn call. Marissa simply learned to accept his difficult nature; there was no changing him.

She was sad to admit that, sometimes, she even took advantage of his strong sense of duty. She also had the nasty tendency to take his aid for granted. She was aware of how harsh she could be on Hiro, even when he was trying to do his best. She couldn't help herself; his so-far stubborn refusal to acknowledge Adriel properly was more than frustrating, especially when she knew how he longed to be a part of his son's life. It wasn't fair that he got to choose what kind of parental responsibilities he was willing to fulfill while she had to sacrifice everything in order to raise their son.

She was thrown into motherhood without planning or warning. Her pregnancy was an unexpected blunder. Having no choice but to deal with it, Marissa simply winged things as she went through life one week at a time, struggling to keep on top of just about everything. Hiro on the other hand managed to keep a safe distance from the burden that was constantly crushing her. She was so eager to have him become a part of Adriel's life that she took whatever he was willing to offer, however little it was at first.

There were times, however, when the unfairness of it all caught up with her and she snapped at him, taking her frustration out on him even when he didn't deserve it (though in her defense, due to his complex nature, he usually did). She often regretted her harsh treatment and apologized to Hiro soon afterwards, fearing she might have damaged the progress they've made.

There was a limit to what she could expect of him. He was a good father, very patient and tolerant; a commendable parental trait considering Adriel's vivacious nature. Marissa admired him for being able to keep his cool in situations that usually drove her up the wall. Adriel could be a handful and Hiro had a knack for dealing with their sprightly child. She was usually the hot tempered one while he handled everything with poise. Hiro possessed many admirable qualities, but sadly there were things that his wounded heart was still incapable of offering their son. He tried though, and that was what mattered most.

As Hiro walked back into the room, speaking on his mobile phone, Marissa sat up, pulling the sheet up to conceal her naked body as she leaned back against the headboard. She studied Hiro quietly as he stood by the bed, listening to whoever was on the other side of the line. She took note of every bruise and welt on his pale skin; they were traces of medical equipment that was attached to him during his long hospitalization. She ran her eyes over every familiar scar marring his flesh. Bright light filtered through the blinds, creating strips of light and shadow on his unhealthily slender figure. She fidgeted uncomfortably and looked away. A sense of awkwardness filled her as she imagined what they must have looked like in bed: she, a tanned and full figured woman well into her thirties, and he – a lanky and pale young man still in his twenties. She covered her face with her hand, suddenly filled with shame.

She couldn't believe she slept with him again! She felt distraught as it dawned on her that unless she wished to lie to her priest, she'll have to confess yet another sinful act she had committed against her better judgment. Hiro brought out the best and the worst in her; perhaps Father Domínguez will understand that when it came to Hiro, she simply couldn't stop herself. She loved him so much. It was a love beyond the romantic or erotic; she was in love with his very soul.

Moving her hand away to uncover her face, she dared to peek in Hiro's direction again, wondering if he felt the same. She watched his expression carefully and then noted the sudden alarm in his eyes. All of her remorseful thoughts quickly vanished, replaced by genuine concern.

Hiro finished the call and simply stood there, staring numbly at his mobile phone. Concerned, Marissa straightened up, holding the sheet above her chest.

"Who was it?" she asked worriedly.

"Jerry," Hiro replied quietly. He turned to her slowly; his expression aghast. "Duo woke up... and he's taken hostages."

*             *             *

Penn Hospital's plaza was in a state of total chaos. Police and Preventer squad cars everywhere; people being evacuated out of the building, civilians and physicians running across the plaza as they fled to safety while a SWAT team surrounded the area, ready to move in.

A large Mobile Command Center vehicle (a big black RV with a satellite dish on its roof) was parked at the center of the large plaza. Agent Gerald Hodgins stood next to the exterior workstation which provided access to telephone, radio and audio/video technology. He was wearing a bullet-proof vest and a headset, a pistol tucked into his holster. He was speaking to someone through the headpiece, when suddenly he spotted a familiar figure making its way towards the MCC, the only civilian moving towards the hospital instead of running away from it – Hiro. The young man was walking briskly towards him, a determined expression on his gaunt face; he was coming to defuse the situation.

"Oh shit," the red-bearded agent muttered under his breath. He hurried towards the young man, signaling him to stop. They stood face-to-face, glaring assertively at one another.

"Hiro," Jerry opened in a warning tone, but Hiro cut him in curtly:

"How bad is it?" He asked and the older man sighed.

"Bad," he said, shaking his head. "He took out the agent guarding his room – did a real number on him too – and apprehended his weapon. He injured two nurses and finally locked himself in the rec-room, along with Grabelsky. The hospital's on Code Purple. We're getting everyone out."

Hiro nodded curtly in acknowledgement. "Has he made any claims?"

"None."

Hiro turned to watch the evacuated building, making a quick assessment. He turned back to Jerry, his eyes stern.

"I get everyone out of there in one piece and you make sure that nothing happens to him," he demanded.

"You're in no condition to—"

"We do this on  _my_  terms," Hiro stipulated firmly; "it's the only way to contain this situation. You know who you're dealing with here. Duo isn't your everyday threat. I get him out and you make sure he walks away."

"That's a real tough one, Hiro."

"You know what strings to pull – do it."

"She might want to speak with you directly this time," Jerry warned; "She's been nagging me about that for years."

"She was here, wasn't she?" Hiro asked, frowning warily. "When I was unconscious."

"I'm not at liberty to say," the agent muttered, avoiding the young man's angry blue eyes.

That was a 'yes'. Hiro sighed. "Fine, if that's what it takes. Just don't have her expect me to sit over coffee. One phone call. No small talk. She gets to apologize and I promise to hear her out. Then I make my request and she better agree with it. I want full pardon."

"Get Grabelsky out of there in one piece, then we'll talk."

Mission accepted. Hiro nodded once and turned to walk into the building.

"Hey!" Jerry called after him, waving his; "Aren't you forgetting something?" He gestured with the gun at his bulletproof vest.

"Don't need it," Hiro muttered and walked into the lobby without looking back.

*             *             *

Hiro has never seen the ward empty before. The silence was eerie, unnatural. Creepy. He walked carefully down the familiar hallways as though threading on thin ice. He kept his hands halfway up, ready to raise them in a gesture of surrender in case he ran into Duo. He advanced slowly, peeking cautiously behind every turn as he headed towards the rec room where he had played videogames with his son only a few days ago.

He reached the rec-room undisturbed. The door was open. Looking in, he saw the large window that overlooked the garden where he and Marissa used to spend their time together at the ward. He spotted two snipers behind the bushes a few dozen feet away.

Hiro turned to examine the room. Taking a small step forward to see more of the spacious recreation area, his eyes fell on Dr. Grabelsky. The old man was sitting on one of the comfy chairs in the reading area by the window, looking tense. He was staring nervously ahead at someone, but when he spotted Hiro at the doorway his eyes darted sideways, surprised.

"Who's there?!" A voice called anxiously; Duo.

Hiro entered the room with his hands up.

"Alan," he greeted his physician calmly, nodding his head slowly at the man; "Are you okay?"

The old man nodded back slowly, His eyes shifted uneasily towards his captor, still beyond Hiro's line of sight.

"Enough chit-chat!" Duo shouted. "Get in here! Keep your hands where I can see 'em!"

Hiro took a few more steps into the room, turning slowly while holding his hands up. There, huddled in the corner of a kitchenette, tucked between the refrigerator and the wall – the safest place to avoid sniper's fire – was Duo. The young man was a distraught mess: his choppy shoulder-length was sticking out in every direction, some plastered over his sweaty face. He was holding a sidearm aimed at Grabelsky, looking a hair-trigger away from snapping.

"Hold it right there!" he called at Hiro, shifting his aim at him swiftly. "That's close enough, buddy!" he threatened; he didn't seem to recognize him.

"Duo," Hiro said his name softly; he kept his hands up in the air and took a step closer. He looked Duo in the eye, pausing long enough to give the young man time to realize who he was. "It's me."

Duo frowned warily, studying Hiro closely. His eyes widened with surprise and he gasped, stepping back until he bumped into the wall behind him.

"Holy shit!" he exclaimed, lowering his aim slightly. " _Heero?_ " he called his name in utter disbelief. "Wha— I mean...  _shit._  What happened?!"

His confusion was understandable. Duo probably didn't remember the night he broke into his apartment; the kill-switch prevented him from remembering any of it.

"Why don't you put the gun down and I'll explain everything?" Hiro offered, gesturing with his raised hands at the pistol in Duo's hands.

"Uh-uh, no way," Duo shook his head; his wild hair swung madly from side to side. He fixed his aim on Hiro again. "I ain't falling for anymore OZ tricks! You're not Heero... just some old look-alike! Step back!"

Now Hiro was confused. "OZ?" he mumbled, scowling. "You think I work for  _OZ_?"

"I've been trying to tell him that he got it all wrong," Dr. Grabelsky intervened quietly.

"SHUT DA FUCK UP!" Duo roared; "I'm done listening to all you mad doctors and shit! Da fuck is this?! What did you do to him?!"

The doctor sighed, shaking his head helplessly. "He won't listen to reason," he told Hiro. "He thinks the war is still raging..."

Hiro's eyes narrowed in suspicion. He studied the senior doctor for a moment, a calculative look in his eyes as he tried to piece the puzzle together; the pieces didn't quite fit. He turned back to Duo, his face blank, masking his inner turmoil.

"Is that true?" he asked evenly; "You really don't remember?"

"I remember just  _fine!_ " Duo grunted, waving the gun angrily; "I told you I should come with! I  _knew_  something was off about this damn lunar mission, you stubborn asshole! J set you up! He sold us out to OZ – and now look at us! This is fucked up – Heero! Totally fucked up!"

It took him a moment to realize what Duo was referring to; slowly, he began seeing things from Duo's standpoint; from the perspective of a frightened fifteen-year-old kid who woke up to find himself inside the body of a man... Could it be?

"Yes," he confirmed calmly and took a careful step forward, his arms still held up in surrender; "you were right about the lunar base mission."

"Damn straight I was!" Duo huffed, too overwhelmed to notice Hiro's measured approach. "I told'ja!"

Hiro nodded in agreement. "Doctor J and the others were captured by OZ just before he sent me on that mission," he explained slowly, approaching Duo one small step at a time; "OZ used him to lure me to the moon."

"You were captured?" Duo asked, his voice wounded.

"Yes," Hiro said, taking another careful step forward; "You came after me and got caught as well. That was over twelve years ago."

Duo gaped at him, stumped. "We've been POWs for  _twelve years_?!" he exclaimed, mortified.

No," Hiro corrected, taking another subtle step towards Duo, hands held up in the air; "What you consider to be the present... that was twelve years ago."

"Right. Okay. I get it: you're trying to mess with ma head," Duo muttered and fixed his aim steadily on Hiro's head, a deadly look in his eyes.

"You're not Heero, are you?" he asked coldly.

Hiro stopped his approach, standing two steps in front of Duo with a gun pointed at his forehead.

"I'm not the person I was twelve years ago," he said calmly, "but I am the same person you once knew as Heero Yuy."

Duo scoffed crudely. "Right." He fixed his aim on Hiro's head with two steady arms, glaring at him intensely. "Prove it."

Hiro turned to Grabelsky, who was still sitting tensely in the reading area.

"You can leave," he said.

"Da fuck he can!" Duo shouted.

"Go," Hiro emphasized harshly, ignoring Duo's warning. The doctor shifted his gaze from Hiro to Duo and then again, hesitating.

"He won't shoot you," Hiro promised; "just go."

"Stay right where you are!" Duo warned.

Grabelsky shifted his eyes nervously between the two.

" _Go,_ " Hiro urged the man. He stepped even closer to Duo and stopped right in front of him, the barrel digging into his forehead. " _Now_ ," he ordered, looking Duo in the eyes.

Grabelsky bolted out of the armchair and dashed to the door. Duo glared at Heero wrathfully. Hiro returned his angry gaze evenly.

"Truth or Dare," he said quietly, looking Duo squarely in the eye while feeling the cold barrel pressed against his brow. He was still holding his hands up in surrender.

"Ask me anything to confirm my claims."

Confused, Duo gaped at him for a moment, studying the matured and gaunt facial features that were so familiar and at the same time, terribly strange.

Finally, he complied.

"Okay," he said, smirking slyly; "What's the little blue wire under the main navigation console?" he asked, poking Heero's head with the gun. The man didn't even flinch.

Duo was referring to the Gundams' cockpit, Hiro deduced easily. "There's no blue wire," he said; "It's green."

"And what's it for?"

"Emergency manual override. You have to rewire the green one with the blue one, which is inside the navigation console, to override the auto pilot in case of malfunction."

"Yeah, well... you had a fucking decade to take the damn thing apart and study it..." Duo determined, keeping a point-blank aim on Heero's head; "this doesn't prove anything."

"Then cut the trivia, Duo," Hiro grumbled, sighing. "Ask me something personal, something only you and I know the answer to," he said, keeping his hands up still and looking at Duo past the gun still pointed and digging into his head.

"Alright," Duo agreed, his eyes intense. His fist clenched around the gun nervously. "What does  _she_  call you?"

Hiro's eyes fell to the floor before darting back up, their gaze hard and determined. "A dog," he said firmly, determined not to falter at the mentioning of such a wounding taboo.

"And what did she call me?" Duo challenged.

"...a rat."

"And what do we call the monster living under your bed, _Heero Yuy_?"

"That has changed," he replied quietly, "but from your perspective it would have to be..." He shifted his gaze uneasily before whispering  _her_  blasphemous name: "Shimura."

Duo's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Dammit," he muttered, lowering the gun and letting his hand dangle limply; "It is you."

"Yes."

"Then what da fuck happened?!" Duo exclaimed fretfully, waving the gun up in the air. "How da fuck did I lose  _twelve_  fucking years?!"

"Reboot and restore..." Hiro mumbled pensively, thinking out loud; "He used your ghost..."

Duo turned to him, scowling in frustration. "Who did what now?"

"Quatre," Hiro clarified; "He used me to reset you... like a ghost backup [[1]]."

It was the only explanation he could come up with: for years he had carried two people in his head, and now there was only one. Maybe Quatre found a way to extract Duo's "ghost" from his mind when he cured him of his illness and got rid of the mess ZERO left in his head during the improper shut-down. The theory was fanciful at best, but it was the only thing he had to go on – somehow, no matter how, Quatre managed to recover Duo's data and...

"He brought you to back to the point before..." Hiro couldn't finish that sentence. He stopped himself, realizing that it would be better not to open that Pandora's Box. Duo should remain ignorant as much as possible. He couldn't risk reawakening the psychosis. Duo's "ghost" was stored inside ZERO months after Shimura had put J's demonic plan in motion. Even though his mind seems to have been subjected to a sort of "reset", there was always the chance that J's curse still lingered somewhere in his psyche. Heero couldn't risk it, so he fell quiet.

"Before what?" Duo asked anxiously, waiting for him to continue from where he had trailed off.

"Before you got sick," Hiro answered as vaguely as possible, looking at Duo guiltily.

"Well, you'll haffta do better than that!" Duo grunted, exasperated; "Sick how? Like  _demented_? Like cancer? Like a fucking  _junkie_? What?!"

"Just... sick," Hiro mumbled, lowering his eyes to the floor.

Duo smacked his tongue in annoyance. "And what's this shit about a  _ghost_?" he demanded heatedly; "Can you at least explain  _that_?!"

"You were too far gone... but there was a part of you that was still sane, still safe... with ZERO, with... with me. Quatre, he... he must have recovered you somehow..." Hiro speculated, speaking hesitantly. "He used a... backup."

Duo gaped at him dumbly. "Huh? Like a damn  _computer drive_? Are you fuckin' shittin' me here? Da fuck did he mange to do that?"

"It's just a theory," Hiro said, shrugging. "He could have used ZERO..."

"Used  _what_?"

Duo didn't know about the ZERO System. That must mean that his mind has been reset to the time before the kill-switch was implanted in his head, before he ever used ZERO, before MO2... before the madness... before everything. A complete reboot. If Quatre truly did somehow download Duo's "ghost" from his brain and back into the ZERO System, it should simply be a matter of deleting certain files to rid Duo of these memories. Shimura's and J's curse could then be treated just like any other malware, eradicated like the virus that it was. Erase and rewind; Quatre has restored Duo's mind.

"It's a computer system Quatre built a long time ago," Hiro finally explained, answering Duo's question; "It helped us win the war."

"We won?!" Duo gasped, astonished. "Didn't you just say we were captured?"

"Yes, but we lived to fight another day."

"And we won?"

"In a manner of speaking," Hiro confirmed with a sigh.

"Was I there?"

"Yes."

"So how come I don't get to remember it?"

"It's... complicated."

"I wake up and find myself twelve years into the future and all you haffta say is that it's  _complicated_!? C'mon Heero – You gotta gimme more to go on here or I'll lose my fucking mind!"

"I'm sorry," Hiro said earnestly, lowering his eyes to the floor. He caught a glimpse of a movement from the corner of his eyes (something that still surprised him because he wasn't used to it yet). The SWAT team was moving in.

"Some friend you are then..." Duo sighed and finally lowered his weapon. He too had noticed the armed men moving into the room from two flanks – the door and the garden. The SWAT team stormed the room, Jerry among them. Duo didn't offer any resistance. He kept his eyes on Hiro as they arrested him, cuffing his hands behind his back and jerking him roughly. His cobalt blue eyes burnt with hurt and betrayal.

Hiro stood aside, looking guiltily at Duo. The young man was taken away at gun point until it was only Hiro and Jerry standing in the room, glaring at one another tensely.

"I believe you have a phone call to make," Hiro reminded him starkly.

*             *             *

Less than 24 hours later, Duo was released from custody. At first he was sure someone was pulling some sick prank – because there was  _no way_  they were  _ever_  going to let him off the hook so easily – but he stood corrected. They were really letting him go; no charges were pressed – he was a free man.

A free  _man_. The very thought was mindboggling. Two days ago he was barely pushing sixteen and now he was over twenty-seven years old! He went to sleep a boy-soldier and woke up a free-man.

They just gave him some charity-donated clothes to wear and a pretty social worker shoved a few money bills into his hand before sending him on his merry way. Just like that.

His stepping back into a world was nothing like he imagined it would be once the war was over. A part of him never expected to survive the war, but the part that did always aspired for something more than just a  _'you're all set – take care!'_

He supposed that things would have been different if the world could see things from his perspective. To all but him the war was old news and he was just another nameless, trauma-riddled veteran. It wasn't that he expected anyone's gratitude (he wasn't  _that_  naïve), but  _some_  recognition would have been nice! What the Hell was he supposed to do now?!

Perhaps ten years ago there was a proper support-system for the likes of him, fresh out of the fight with all the honors and PTSD thereto pertaining, but that boat has already sailed. Now, no one cared; he was left to fend on his own in a world so alien he didn't even know where to turn as he stepped out of an office building belonging to some organization called Preventer. He didn't even know what  _that_  was, but as long as they were letting him walk free, who cared.

Stepping onto the streets of Philadelphia, Duo looked around, feeling completely lost. He started walking down the street, not knowing where he was going. What the Hell was he supposed to do with himself now? Anxious, he suddenly had this crazy craving for a smoke. That was odd, because the last he recalled having a smoke was before Prof. G picked him off the streets and trained him – and by all accounts that should have been over fifteen years ago. Surely his body was used to live without nicotine by now!

He stopped by a small concession stand in a street corner not far from the Preventer's building. All he had were a few lousy bucks, but right now he couldn't think of a better way to spend them. He bought a pack of cheap smokes and a plastic lighter. Lighting up his first cigarette in over a decade (or so he knew), Duo turned back to face the street. He held the cigarette pressed between his lips, shielding it from the wind with one hand while bringing the lighter up with his other. Suddenly, he stopped. His eyes fell on a figure standing in front of a parked car a few feet ahead. The strange yet familiar man was leaning against the car, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched Duo intently: Heero.

 _Jesus_ , Duo thought;  _the man barely looks like himself._

The young man was tall, much taller than Duo remembered, his figure lanky; scrawny with illness. He was dressed in plain blue jeans hanging sloppily from his bony waist and a warm blue jacket that dangled loosely from his slim shoulders. But it wasn't his unhealthily slim physique that startled Duo; it was the look in his eyes. Heero seemed remarkably wiser; calm... in an eerily peaceful sort of way. The storms that once raged in his eyes have passed. The fire Duo recalled so vividly was gone, replaced by a tranquil blue ocean. Those amazingly blue eyes were the eyes of a man who overcame hardship and triumphed; a person who was finally at peace with his demons. Duo envied him. This was a man who had years to heal, while he still felt raw and bleeding, torn out of the fight ahead of time. He wondered... did that mean things won't be the same between Heero and him? Did he just lose his only friend in this alien world? It sure felt like it.

He gawked at Heero with miserable eyes. They stood a few feet apart, watching each other tensely. Eventually, Heero turned around to face the car he was leaning on and opened the door on the passenger's side. Without a word, he circled the vehicle and entered on the driver's side, leaving the passenger door open. Taking the obvious hint, Duo hurried to get into the car.

The old sedan reeked of cigarettes and a potent car-freshener; and it was littered with junk: tossed candy-wrappers, soda-pops and whatnot. Duo was used to filth, but even  _he_  had to grimace at the mess.

"Jesus, Heero, talk about getting sloppy..." he teased, trying to break the ice because Heero was being fucking  _intense_. The man didn't even glimpse at him.

"Not my car," he grumbled and started the engine. He drove off, merging with the heavy flow of downtown traffic.

"See, I  _knew_  you were bluffing!" Duo declared after a while, smiling at Heero; "You'd never really leave me hanging like that," he added, but the young man ignored him, looking solely at the road as he drove quietly. Duo sighed, his shoulders slumping tiredly. Heero wasn't going to make this easy now was he?

"Where are we headed?" he asked, studying Heero's hard expression; "And please don't say something freaky like saving the world again or sumthin', cuz I was told that I'm retired."

This time, he got a reaction. Heero actually rolled his eyes at that one! Jesus – really?

"I booked you a hotel downtown," he informed Duo harshly, keeping his eyes on the road; "Just to get you started."

"Fuck it, I wouldn't know  _where_  to start," Duo moaned, leaning back into his seat. He stared wretchedly out the windshield, gazing out at the world that has moved on without him.

"Figure it out, Duo," Heero reprimanded, sighing; "We all have."

"Yeah, well, apparently I didn't do so well the first time, or Quatre wouldn't have had to hit the  _RESET_  button," he grunted, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring out the window.

Heero didn't say anything.

"I tried to call him, yanno," Duo whispered, casting his eyes down sadly and letting his arms drop to his lap. He fidgeted with his fingers, staring at them miserably as he spoke: "dude wouldn't even take my call," he mumbled, sighing. He looked up, his blue eyes pleading Heero for some answers. Heero kept his eyes on the road.

"Was it that bad?" he asked hopelessly; "Q-ball ain't the type to give up one people easily and if he doesn't want to have anything to do with me then... it was bad, right?"

For a while, Heero just kept driving.

"Yes," he finally said. "It was bad."

Duo stared at him wretchedly, his eyes watering. "Yeah?" he rasped shakily, his voice on the verge of tears. "How bad?"

Heero didn't say anything for a while, just kept driving. His fists were clenched tightly around the steering wheel. His silence was intense, aggrieved. A few blocks later he heaved a small sigh and turned to face Duo. His blue eyes were cold, guarded.

"You've been given a rare opportunity for a clean slate," he said quietly; "I suggest you take it."

"A clean slate woulda been nice," Duo objected bitterly, "but this ain't it. Quatre shoulda gotten rid of a  _whollta_  other shit to clean  _this_ slate up!" He grumbled sarcastically, pointing at his own head; "Besides, what's gonna be so different this time? I messed shit up before, I'll probably do it again. It's kinda ma thing, yanno. Fucking shit up."

Heero didn't offer a reply and resumed watching the road. He drove silently for a couple of more blocks, maneuvering the car in the busy streets of downtown Philadelphia.

"This time you'll have my guidance," he suddenly said, just when Duo figured that the man was giving him the cold shoulder like Quatre did. He smiled. It seemed that Heero had a soft spot for him after all.

"Yanno, I always figured it'd be the other way around," he admitted, smiling helplessly. "You're  _way_  ahead of me, aren't you?" He mumbled, turning to look out the passenger's side window. He studied the skyscrapers towering over the road, his eyes wistful and distant.

"Gotta tell you man, this is not what I thought it would be, but..." He turned to Heero, a guilty smile on his face. "It ain't so bad as long as you're here. Thanks, Heero... for sticking by me and all."

Heero shifted uncomfortably in the driver's seat. "Sure," he mumbled, avoiding eye contact. "What are friends for?" he murmured and a wide, warm smile lightened up Duo's handsome face.

"Glad to hear you say that, buddy!" he laughed, relieved. "For a few moments there, I thought I lost you too."

"Same here," Heero confessed quietly, a hidden smile tugging at his lips. "It's good to have you back."

"So!" Duo let out casually, leaning back into the passenger seat and raising his hands behind his head, suddenly laidback. "Did they ever make any movies about us winning the war and shit?" he asked, grinning mischievously; "I hope they got someone really cool to play me... No wait, I hope it was some  _badass_  guy like... like... what's his name? Yanno, that guy from all those cool action movies? Oh! Or that guy from the freaky horror flick with the aliens on that remote MO satellite... Shit, I forgot what it was called... Didn't we catch that one together? I think you said it was moronic or something... Man that was one sick movie!"

"Duo?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

"Gotcha," Duo grinned and Hiro had to look away to stifle an uncontrollable smile. Yes, Duo was definitely back. It would seem that in the aftermath of pain, hurt and devastation, he had regained not only his life and a family, but also his best friend.

*             *             *

  **To be continued in the Epilogue**

 

[1] Ghost (an acronym for General Hardware-Oriented System Transfer _)_ is a disk cloning and backup tool that can recover data and restore crashed systems.


	21. Epilogue

**One Week 21/21**

**Epilogue**

It was a snowy Friday afternoon. Christmas decorations adorned every house, shop and corner in suburban Philadelphia. A brand-new dark-blue sedan made its way down a suburban street; its wipers worked vigorously to clear the accumulating snow off the windshield. A cheery Christmas tune was playing on the radio.

Hiro sat behind the wheel, dressed in a black business suit and a blue hand-knitted wool scarf draped around his neck. The heating inside the car was on and the hot air was almost suffocating. Feeling uncomfortably warm, the young man reached a hand away from the steering wheel to take the scarf off and throw it to the backseat, all the while keeping his eyes on the slippery road. The digital clock on the dashboard registered 15:47, but it was already getting dark. The hazy twilight and heavy snow created perilous driving conditions so he focused solely on the road.

Occupying the passenger's seat, sitting on a child's booster, was Adriel. The little boy was dressed festively in a hand-knitted gray sweater over a white dress-shirt and tailored black trousers. His ebony-black hair was no longer arranged in a childish bowl-cut; but rather it was cut short messily and spiky, a miniature mirror of his father's unruly hair. A thick blue winter-coat rested on his lap, along with a matching wool scarf and a pom-pom hat. The child gazed silently at the windshield, his glance following the wipers left and right as he clicked the heels of his shoes together repeatedly along with the merry tune.

The song on the radio changed to another cheery Christmas carol; the voices singing were synthesized to be very high-pitched and screechy. Hiro sent the radio a vicious glare, silently criticizing the annoying melody.

"Why are they squealing like that?" he muttered as he turned the car into another suburban street.

"Because they're _chipmunks_ ," Adriel explained as though it should have been obvious.

"Right," Hiro grunted and changed the station.

"Hey!" the child protested as some boring current-affairs program filled the speakers with dull gibbering about the upcoming elections for the ESUN presidency.

Hiro ignored the boy's whining. He soon stopped the car in front of a large, colorful and brightly illuminated building which stood out in the white snow covering the grounds around it. A shiny neon sign cheerfully declared the facility's name _"Jumpin' Jack's Jamboree!"_ Many children were walking along with their parents into the structure, carrying colorful birthday gifts. Hiro reached a hand to the backseat and lifted a large plastic bag, which also contained a gift. He handed it to Adriel, who had just taken his seatbelt off and prepared to step out of the car.

"Adriel," Hiro stopped him; "Put your coat on."

"But I'm going straight in!" the child whined in protest.

"True, but it's very cold. Put it on."

"I'm not cold," the boy insisted.

Hiro scowled at the child. "Adriel, put your coat on."

" _Hiro_ , I'm almost eight 'n _a half_ ," Adriel reminded him snootily; "I don't haffta to put my coat on!"

"Even _eight_ year olds get cold," Hiro retorted impatiently.

" _No they don't!_ "

"Yes they do," Hiro found himself bickering with his child. "I was eight once, I know," he muttered, fighting back a sigh. He also recalled that in Adriel's age, he too had childishly believed that he knew better than any adult. Of course, his childhood was nothing like the normal life he was able to give Adriel, but he had learned that, despite the significant differences, he could still reach inside himself and find a fading trace of a child; small, faint sensations that allowed him to identify with his son. And while he could sympathize and understand the boy, it was still his responsibility to be the adult:

"Put your coat on, or step back into the car."

The child pouted crossly, glaring at Hiro as he nonetheless put his coat and scarf on. He deliberately left the pom-pom hat in the car as useless protest.

"Ever since you became my _real dad_ you keep _buggin'_ me just like _mom_ does!" He grumbled and reached for the gift which was still resting on the passenger's seat.

"Noted," Hiro dismissed his compliant evenly as he put the car into gear. "I'll be here to pick you up at six," he informed the child. "Wait for me inside, I don't want you stepping out into the street alone after dark."

"Yeah, yeah," Adriel mumbled petulantly as he turned to walk away; "I know, _d-a-d,_ " he emphasized the last word disdainfully.

"Adriel," Hiro warned. The boy only called him _'dad'_ when he was being deliberately disrespectful. Marissa once explained that it was just a phase; the child was testing his boundaries, acting up and trying to see whether Hiro was truly committed to being his father or not. Plus, he was not as indulgent towards the boy as he used to be, so they squabbled quite often. Hiro soon found out that even his unfathomable patience could be worn thin by the child's persistent trials and spite.

"Keep this up and I'm taking you home," he threatened with a calm steady tone.

"Fine, fine! Okay! _Sorry_ , geez!" the boy grumbled and closed the car's door swiftly. Hiro remained parked in front of the building until he saw Adriel walk inside. Shaking his head and sighing, he then drove off, heading towards his next destination.

Over a year has passed since he had put his illness and his demons behind him. After his discharge from the hospital he moved into Marissa's place, spending over two weeks sleeping on her sofa while he waited to move back into his old apartment across the hall. Being a part of his son's daily life, Hiro was reassured of his decision to tell Adriel who he was. He had learned that strengthening the bonds he had made and putting down roots was the answer to his nagging and constant feelings of misplacement. Now that he finally had a future to look forward to, he knew that this future lay along with his son; he will never feel lost again.

Telling Adriel was difficult. He had asked for Marissa's guidance and she offered that he'd try to speak with the child in eye-level; using terms that he would be able to understand and related with. Following her advice, he explained to the boy that he had told a sort of "white lie" in an attempt to protect his feelings, much like the boy did on a few past occasions. Hiro then clarified that he did it because he feared that Adriel won't like him for who he really was. He told the boy that he had lied because he believed that his past was scornful and dark, and that he didn't want him to think that his father was a bad person.

Adriel didn't get it. The boy had learned about the war at school and from various television shows, so it was not hard for him to understand when Hiro had told him about his past as a Gundam pilot, but he couldn't grasp what it meant; he was incapable of understanding the hardship and heartache behind the role Hiro had played. To him, war was something he saw on TV and videogames and Gundams were cool toys he had to beg his mother to get him (while she refused obstinately). Adriel thought that being a Gundam pilot was _cool_. He was _astounded,_ like he was just told that his dad was a superhero or something!

The boy found it difficult to conceive the remorse Hiro felt regarding his past. He couldn't understand why the man believed that he was a _"bad guy"_ , because he was taught that the Gundam pilots did the right thing; they fought to liberate the Colonies, protect mankind from tyranny under The Alliance and OZ's rule, and eventually brought world peace to all people, both on Earth and in Space. It was hard to argue with his reasoning, so Hiro didn't object to his point of view. Maybe one day they will debate the issue as one adult to another.

After Hiro told his son everything, Adriel had turned to his mother, searching for an explanation. He asked her if that was why she went along with the lie: did she believe that Hiro was a bad person? Marissa shook her head and calmly replied that she did not. She told him how proud she was of what Hiro did, how much she appreciated the sacrifices he had made for the sake of humanity. Hiro felt that she replied so earnestly just so he could hear her say it.

It took a bit more explaining until the boy finally came to terms with what was being said to him. Marissa was the one to explain her relationship with Hiro. It made sense to the boy, because he knew many children whose parents were separated. He had no difficulty coping with the fact that his parents were living separately; however he was confused as to why they kept the truth from him. Once again Hiro had to explain that his past was something dark, sad and painful; he had told the boy that he wanted to protect him from that sadness. When Adriel asked what changed, why he was telling him now, Hiro was at a loss for words. Marissa took over and told the boy that Hiro loved him so much, that he couldn't keep lying anymore. She could always come up with the right thing to say.

In the end, there were only a few things Adriel wanted to know: will Hiro continue taking care of him after school, will he come to his birthday parties, will he keep taking him out to have fun on weekends and will he still come watch his soccer games? Hiro replied positively to each of his questions. The boy then frowned at him, puzzled, and tried to rationalize all that he was being told:

_'So you're gonna keep on doing all the things dads are **supposed** to do, but now you'll be my **real** dad?'_ When Hiro confirmed that as well, the child heaved a dramatic little sigh. _'Then I guess it's okay,'_ he had said, shrugging carelessly; _'But I can still call you Hiro, right?'_

Relieved, Hiro smiled at his son and told him that he could do whatever he was comfortable with. A large burden was lifted from his heart and soul that day; Adriel has fully accepted him. They were now officially father and son, and he had his daily amount of power-struggles with the boy to prove it.

After a short drive, Hiro parked the car again at the side of a main road, right in front of a small bistro. It was still snowing and the sun had already set. He picked up his elegant black pea-coat, which matched the black business suit he was wearing, and put it on as he stepped out of the car. His black leather briefcase was stored in the backseat, next to a few discarded candy-bar wrappers and action figures Adriel had left in his car at one time or another. Sighing at the sight of the mess, Hiro reached for the briefcase and reminded himself to have the child clean it up that weekend. He locked the car and headed into the bistro.

It was a small establishment, elegant and cozy. Large panoramic windows overlooked the busy road at the front; a row of dining booths was situated by the large window and a stylish bar stood opposite of them. Hiro didn't need to look around to find the person he was there to meet; he knew exactly where he was headed as he walked towards the dinning booth at the end of the row.

A young man was sitting in the booth, his back facing Hiro. He was dressed in a faded-gray jumpsuit stained with grease; a logo was printed on the back: _"Louie's Auto Repair"._ His light-brown hair was long, reaching under to his shoulder-blades and gathered into a thick braid. In front of him was a plate full of fries, vegetables and a juicy burger. The young man was holding a beer bottle in one hand, while he held a newspaper in the other.

"Sorry I'm late," Hiro apologized as he approached the opposite bench.

Duo looked up, chewing on a piece of fries. He offered his friend a welcoming smile, gesturing a small salute with his beer bottle.

"Did the meeting take longer than expected?" he asked and took a sip from his beer.

"No," Hiro explained as he took off his coat and settled in his seat. "There was something I had to do after the meeting."

"Oh," Duo acknowledged simply; he was used to Hiro being vague about his life. There were many things he still kept from him, but Duo had learned to accept that it would take time until he could regain his friend's trust completely. He was thankful for whatever Hiro was willing to offer, for he knew that he probably didn't deserve any of it.

"Well," Duo shrugged carelessly; "I was starved, so I already ordered." He returned his attention back to the newspaper, reading and enjoying his beer.

Hiro glanced at the main headline which read:

 

**Scandal at the AC 208 Presidential Campaign Debate!**

**Senator Darlian Stormed Out of the Debate When Confronted with Her Past as a Legal-Guardian to a Former Gundam Pilot**

 

There was a photo of Relena making a heated speech to some assembly; her expression was angry and upset. Deliberately ignoring what he had read, too resentful to give the story even the slightest consideration, Hiro reached for the menu. He skimmed through it silently.

"That Relena girl sure keeps making headlines," Duo muttered behind the newspaper after he had picked up on the man's aggrieved silence and the resentful look in his eyes. Compared to the person he had known during wartime, Hiro was now much easier to read; he no longer made an effort to conceal his feelings. Over the past year, Duo had learned that his friend had undergone many changes, some of which he still found hard to get used to (like the sight of Hiro's humble smile whenever he made a joke Hiro actually found funny). In a way, he was getting to know Hiro all over again, discovering the person he always believed Heero could be. He figured maybe that was why the man now preferred to spell his name with an 'I' rather than double 'E'; he was the same, yet he wasn't. In any case, the spelling didn't matter all that much; be it "Heero" or "Hiro", Duo was still happy to call the man his friend.

"Can you believe the bitch wants to rule the world again?" he continued commenting on the story he had read earlier, while waiting for Hiro's arrival. Ever since he woke up in a hospital with a decade-long gap in his memory, Duo was hungry for any detail he could gather about matters that had to do with his past, even if it had to do with _Relena_. He had spent over a month reading old news articles online and browsing through history books in the library, piecing things together as much as he could. He wanted to know as much as he could about what happened while he was "gone", even if he had to learn about it from a third party.

The article he just read provided him with interesting information that Relena was once responsible for the care of one of the ex-Gundam pilots after the Mariemaia Uprising. Considering Hiro's bitterness and his past connection with Relena, it wasn't hard to guess which pilot was taken in by her _Royal Pain_. It was a fact many didn't take kindly. Some, those who were still hateful towards the pilots and their actions, accused her of harboring a war criminal; and some, those sympathetic towards the pilots (mainly Colony citizens), accused her of abandoning her ward merely a few months after she had assumed that responsibility. The accusations painted her in a bad light in the eyes of both parties, thus foiling her so-far successful Presidential Campaign for the upcoming AC 209 Elections.

A waiter approached the booth and after another brief glance at the menu, Hiro asked for "the usual". The waiter nodded and walked away.

"Think about it, man," Duo continued as he folded the paper and put it down. "I can't imagine what the world would look like if she actually won;" he stopped to take a sip from his beer bottle. "I mean _shit._ There goes the planet – right?"

Hiro had nothing to say on the matter; he didn't care. Relena was dead to him. He told her so when they last spoke, after Duo's little "incident" at the hospital. Jerry arranged the call. Hiro heard her out as promised. He let her apologize to him, but he couldn't find it in himself to forgive her. He still resented her for not trying hard enough, for giving up on him... for not believing in him the way she used to believe when he was still a soldier. She couldn't accept him as a person; all she ever saw in him was the impossible idol. She promised to do everything in her power to set Duo free. He thanked her and heard her exhale in relief. She was probably smiling. Then he told her that this was the last time they will ever speak to each other. The smile vanished from her voice. She said she understood, and that was goodbye.

An upbeat funky song suddenly began to play loudly. Hiro looked up and saw Duo reach into his pocket to pull out his cell phone. He glanced at the caller ID and immediately seemed annoyed.

"Yeah?" he grunted as he answered the call. He listened for a while, watching the waiter return with Hiro's order: a bottle of mineral water, a smoked salmon and cream-cheese sandwich with a green salad on the side. Duo reached for a greasy French fry as he listened to the person at the other side of the line.

"No way, Lu-man!" he exploded angrily; "I just got around to having my lunch and I ain't coming back past four O'clock on a _Friday!_ Tell the dude to wait 'til Monday."

Taking a sip of water, Hiro raised a curious eyebrow at Duo's outburst.

The braided man listened some more, before he cut-in again: "Yeah, well, da fuck do I care? Tell him to order a God damned cab!" He hung up the call angrily. "Fucking jerk."

"Problems at work?" Hiro inquired calmly and he put his water back down and turned to his meal. "Why are you arguing with Louie again?"

"The jerk wanted me to come back to the shop – can you fucking believe it?!" Duo grumbled heatedly. "He won't give me a break! Like I have _no life_ other than the time I spend in under a hood of some damn car! Da fuck I let you talk me into taking that damn job anyway?"

"You two seem to get along just fine," Hiro commented dryly before taking a bite from his salad. "You should be thankful Louie puts up with your crude attitude. I think he's quite pleased with you."

"Right. Meanwhile, I'm earning scrap while you make the big bucks. Fucking ain't fair, man."

"Then find another job."

"Oh, _sure!"_ Duo droned sarcastically; "Like anyone would hire an ex-con with a twelve year gap in his head. Get real, Hiro."

"Still nothing?" Hiro asked out of pure politeness as he lifted his sandwich to his mouth. In truth, he preferred things the way they were. Sometimes he awoke in the middle of the night, covered in cold sweat after suffering a nightmare in which Duo suddenly remembers again. He dreaded the consequences of Duo remembering; he had no desire to face his rapist again. He had worked very hard to come to think of the person sitting before him and the person who raped him as two completely different individuals, separating the madman from the companion.

Duo took a large gulp from his beer and shrugged carelessly. "Nada," he said and slammed the beer bottle down. He picked up his burger. "Doctor Gavin says that if I don't remember shit after all this time, then I must be suppressing it on purpose."

"Are you?"

"Da fuck do I look like – a damn _shrink?_ " Duo exclaimed and picked up his burger. "I keep telling her that there ain't nuthin' there," he knocked on his head, speaking with his mouth full; "But she won't take 'no' for an answer! We even tried hypnosis, but whatever Gavin did, I wouldn't go under. It was kinda funny... I think I'm driving my shrink a little crazy."

"I'm not surprised," Hiro remarked evenly, hiding a smile, and finally took a small bite from his sandwich. He had gained a healthy amount of weight over the past year, since his release from the hospital. Thanks to a controlled diet and many hours spent at the gym, he seemed in good physical shape. Dr. Grabelsky was certainly pleased during his last checkup and gave him a clean bill of health.

Duo sighed irritably. "This sucks!" he exclaimed in frustration. "But maybe it's better if I don't remember shit. Let sleeping dogs lie, yanno?"

Hiro stopped eating and looked up at Duo. He studied him quietly for a moment, seeming to be contemplating something hurtful.

"What?" Duo let out anxiously as Hiro just kept looking at him with that wounded look in his eyes; "Jesus, Hiro. Quit looking at me like that."

Hiro finally lowered his head down and resumed eating quietly. Duo scowled thoughtfully. Sometimes Hiro got a little funny like that. Duo would sometimes note that the man was offended by something he said or did. He knew that he was supposed to know _exactly_ why he was at fault, but he never did. He was still completely in the dark about what happened during the past twelve years.

He did know that he did some serious jail time. He was still on parole, so he had to report to a parole officer every now and then. The System seemed pleased with his reintegration into society as a positive contributor. His damn therapist advised his parole officer not to volunteer any information regarding his crime. It seemed that everyone around him was working hard to make sure that he will remain ignorant of his past. It frightened him. What horrible deeds did he commit that everyone around him just wanted to put it behind them, never speaking of it again?

He tried to contact Quatre again a few months back. It took him forever to get a hold of the man, but eventually Quatre obliged his persistent requests for a phone call. He just wanted to thank the wealthy man for his aid. Quatre accepted his gratitude in cold politeness. He didn't offer many words, simply tolerating the video-phone conversation until it was over. Duo didn't dare to contact Quatre again, nor did he try looking for the other ex-pilots. He had a feeling they won't appreciate it. He took comfort in the fact that Hiro was still willing to stick around.

"Fuck... I dunno," he continued the conversation from where he had left off; "Maybe ignorance is bliss, yanno?"

"Perhaps," Hiro agreed quietly.

"That's fucked up. I can't go on living with this hole in ma head! I don't even know da fuck I am anymore, yanno? Everything's so messed up. I live in this crummy one-room _dump_ , the only job I was able to get was this crappy one _you_ got me and the only social calls I make are the Friday afternoon meals we have together. _That's it_. I mean, no offense, man, I appreciate you keeping in touch 'n all – you're my best bud – but I never thought that this would be it, yanno? _This_ is life? _This_ is what I fought for? Fuck that. This sucks."

"You could've done far worse for yourself," Hiro commented dryly, more focused on his sandwich rather than on Duo's whining; he was used to hearing the young man ramble about his miserable predicament. Knowing that Duo was far better off the way he was now, he found it hard to offer the man much sympathy.

"If you're unhappy with things as they are, then make a change."

"Like what?"

"I don't know, get a girlfriend or something."

"That's rich coming from you."

"I'm not the one who's displeased with his life."

"Yeah?" Duo teased playfully, quirking an eyebrow; "Does that mean you're gettin' some 'n I dunno about it?"

"That would be none of your business," Hiro grumbled.

"Hey, man, what else are a couple a guys supposed to talk about? I've gone practically celibate, so I might as well live vicariously through you."

"My life is not the issue here, _yours_ is," Hiro retorted; "Like this celibacy thing, that's a decision you can change, if it will make you happy."

"Uh uh," Duo shook his head fiercely; "No way. That's one stupid decision I intend to stick with for a while. My shrink agrees. Gavin says I should stay da fuck away from anything that might make me slip. And that includes sex, my friend. Apparently I was quite a sex-junkie too. Guess I'm kinda prone to addictions," he concluded with a sigh.

"You're not necessarily the same person you were these past ten years," Hiro argued in his favor.

"Tell that to Gavin," Duo grumbled bitterly. "Looks like she and the rest of the fucking world wanna make sure I ain't gonna do God knows what again. I mean, how can I promise to keep my act together and change who I was if I don't even know what I'm supposed to change? People expect me to live this whole other life when I don't even remember what kinda life I lived before! You're the only thing that keeps makin' sense to me, Hiro. Is that fucked up?"

"A bit," he replied smoothly, smirking.

"Fuck you, man," Duo grumbled and rolled his eyes. "Don't force me into getting all gooey on you 'n stuff. You know what I mean."

"I do," Hiro confirmed quietly; "And I suggest that you concentrate on moving forward, instead of trying to look back. There's no use trying to reclaim what is lost."

"I wish it was that easy. I feel like I'm hanging by a thread here. This shit ain't right. Every week feels exactly the same as the one before. It's just an endless loop of useless nothing. It ain't right. It wasn't supposed to be so... so... _dull._ It wasn't supposed to be like this."

"What was it supposed to be like, then?"

Duo sighed and turned to look out the window. He gazed numbly at the snow accumulating on top of Hiro's dark-blue car parked in front of the bistro.

"I dunno..." he murmured quietly, still staring outside; "just... better. I always dreamt of _normal_ , but now I'm not so sure I want it," he admitted sadly. "I'm totally fucked up, aren't I?"

"It will get easier," Hiro gave an empty assurance. "Just take it one step at a time."

"Yeah?" Duo looked up at him again. "And what makes you so fucking sure?"

"Because the only way left for you to go is up. You've already been to your lowest low."

"Well I'll be damned," Duo muttered cynically; "Look at you, offering me useless clichés. I'm real proud of ya, Hiro, you've come a long way."

"Stop being so sarcastic," Hiro sighed. "I remember you being much more of an optimist."

"Yeah, well, maybe I grew up over the past year," Duo grumbled, despondent. He cast his gaze down sadly and began fiddling around with the edges of his newspaper. He could feel Hiro's eyes on him as the man studied him with concern.

"Things will change for the better," Hiro tried to reassure him; "I'm speaking from experience."

Duo looked up, hopeful. "Mind sharing?"

This time it was Hiro who looked away uncomfortably. "I rather not," he sighed.

"See? This _sucks_. I don't see how it could ever get better. I dunno, man... I've lost faith. I dunno..." Duo heaved a sorrowful sigh and turned to look out the window again, watching the snowfall wretchedly.

"Then perhaps I should give this to you now," Hiro spoke softly as he turned to his briefcase and pulled out a flat rectangular jewelry box; it was wrapped in a small blue ribbon. He placed it on the table, in front of Duo. The braided young man turned to look at him, confused.

"What's this?" he asked and Hiro smiled kindly.

"I planned on waiting until Christmas Day," he explained, "but perhaps it would help cheer you up." He nudged the box towards Duo.

"Really? You got this for me?" Duo marveled as he reached for the box carefully. He picked it up and sent Hiro a funny look, smirking kinkily. "Hiro, you dog! Are you proposing? This is so sudden..."

"Shut up," Hiro grumbled irritably, clearly offended. Duo's ignorant remarks always cut him deep, reaching where it hurt the most. He did his best to ignore those comments, for he knew that there was no ill intention behind them. Duo didn't know what he was saying. It was an innocent slip up, but it still hurt. Sometimes Hiro felt so frustrated by his decision to keep Duo in the dark. He could remind Duo of the way _she_ had treated him on L1, but that would open up room for questions he wasn't willing to answer. So yes, like Duo said, he will let sleeping dogs lie and continue to swallow his pain in silence.

"Just open the damn gift before I regret it," Hiro muttered impatiently, trying to mask his hurt with irritation.

"But it ain't Christmas yet!" Duo whined playfully, enjoying himself all too much.

"Then consider it an early Christmas present," Hiro grunted.

"Cool!" Duo beamed; "You know that means you still have to get me a _real_ Christmas present."

Hiro rolled his eyes. "You'll get another one on Christmas Day."

"Sweet!" Duo called out cheerfully. "Do I get to choose? Because I could really use like... everything. Really, man, I'd even be thankful for a lame ol' _toaster_. But a small one, cuz, yanno, my kitchen is about as big as Scythe's cockpit."

"I'll see what I can do about that."

"Great! Now I finally have _something_ to look forward to – a toaster! I mean, I was looking forward to spending Christmas sleeping in late and living on TV dinners... but now I'm thinking grilled cheese sandwiches all the way man!" Duo finished with a wide grin. Although clearly sarcastic, his handsome smile was honest and familiar; a nostalgic reminder of a teenage boy now long gone. The smile suited Duo's matured face. Hiro actually found himself smiling back a little.

Duo finally opened the small jewelry box. Inside it, resting over a white silk bed was an elegant silver cross. Duo tilted the box towards him, appreciating how the silver gleamed under the soft winter light pouring through the window.

"Hiro..." he let out in awe, "I really appreciate the gesture, but... you know I'm not really religious, right? The Catholic thing... it's just a thing, yanno?"

"I know. This isn't about God."

Duo frowned. "What's it about then?"

"Faith," Hiro replied simply.

"Oh my, looks like Heero Yuy has come to hang his faith on a cross! I'll be damned."

"Duo," Hiro warned impatiently; he never appreciated the man's sarcastic references to his past codename.

Duo let out a good-hearted laugh. "What! You goin' on 'bout faith and Christmas... that's gotta be like one of the sure signs of the Apocalypse or sumthin', right?"

"Can you be serious for one damn moment?" Hiro grunted.

"Me? Serious? Never!" Duo burst in a fit of playful evil-villain laughter. Hiro sighed and shook his head in mock-disapproval.

"Sometimes I forget you still have the mentality of a _sixteen_ year old."

"Hey, you're only as old as you feel!" Duo joked but soon returned to being serious. He reached for Hiro's hand, which was resting casually on the table. When they touched, Hiro's first reaction was to flinch back, pulling his hand away quickly. He stopped himself and, looking Duo in the eye tensely, placed his hand back down on the table. Keeping eye contact, Duo carefully placed the palm of his hand over Hiro's in a friendly intimate gesture. He felt the man tense at his touch, as he always did, but this time Hiro relaxed rather quickly. He allowed Duo to hold his hand. Duo smiled softly, pleased by the small progress. This was the gift of faith Hiro was giving him, and Duo wanted him to know how much he appreciated it.

"Thank you, Hiro," he spoke quietly, looking into Hiro's turbulent blue eyes; the man seemed tense.

"For everything," Duo added slowly, "...especially for your faith in me. I know Quatre never woulda helped me out if it weren't for you believing in me. He said he only did it for you, so... yanno, you saved my life, man. You saved my _soul_."

"Don't be dramatic," Hiro muttered humbly and glanced away, obviously feeling awkward by Duo's direct honesty and closeness.

"I mean it," Duo insisted, squeezing the man's hand softly. Hiro turned to look at him, noting that the young man seemed a bit flushed.

"I ain't gettin' all girly on you 'n stuff, but I gotta say... I mean, I never really thanked you for believing in me. Yanno, all through everything. You stuck by me and... well, you were the only one who ever gave a shit. You didn't give up on me, even when I did God knows what, and... well, thank you. No one else believes in me the way you do. I know I must have done some pretty shitty stuff, so... yeah. Thank you, Hiro."

Hiro was feeling very uncomfortable, but he nodded in acknowledgment. Duo let go of his hand and the two resumed eating in awkward silence.

"I could thank you for the same thing," Hiro said after a while, looking up at Duo humbly. Duo frowned, confused, and Hiro offered him a small smile.

"You believed in my humanity when others, even I, failed to recognize it. You never gave up on me, so I could never give up on you. You taught me friendship, Duo. I think I'll always be grateful for that."

Duo seemed embarrassed. He smiled back, chastened. Feeling sheepish, he turned to focus back on his meal, at a loss for words.

The two finished their lunch quietly. Hiro glanced at his wristwatch.

"In a hurry somewhere?" Duo asked.

"Yes," Hiro said as he signaled the waiter for the check and pulled out his wallet. Duo prepared to do the same, but Hiro gestured at him to stop.

"This one's on me," he said as he laid his golden credit card for the waiter to take.

"Hey man, I ain't _that_ broke!" Duo protested and pulled out his wallet anyway. "I was just kiddin' earlier, yanno. I can buy a fucking _toaster_ if I wanna."

The waiter looked at Hiro in question, but he signaled him to leave with the credit card only. Duo sighed and slumped back into his seat.

"Save your money, Duo," Hiro told him; "You'll need it to buy a Christmas gift. I expect it to be an impressive one."

"Da fuck! Da Hell is this shit? You give me a fancy present just so I could pay you back with one?!"

"No, Duo," Hiro spoke calmly; "I'm inviting you over to spend Christmas Day with my son and me. A present is mandatory."

"Shit man, you're inviting me to your place? Really? No more restriction order 'n shit? Coo—oh _wait a fucking minute there!_ Da fuck was that? Your _son_? Come again?"

Hiro smiled artfully and stood up, preparing to leave. "You've met him before, but I'm afraid that you didn't make a very positive impression," he informed Duo; "A proper gift might start to make up for that. He's been into those absurd Furry Fire Monsters lately, so be advised."

Staggered, Duo just gaped at Hiro dumbly. "Fu-furry monsters?" was all he could manage to stutter in response.

"Fire Monsters," Hiro corrected; "it's an animated series kids his age enjoy watching."

"Who cares!" Duo exclaimed animatedly as he stood up and slammed his fists on the table. "Fuck – Hiro! You have a son?! How da Hell!"

"Are you asking me for a biology lesson?" Hiro taunted, smirking playfully.

"Very funny," Duo muttered, subdued, and sat back down. He ran a hand to fluff his long bangs up and sighed heavily in contemplation. He looked back up at his friend, who was putting his coat back on before leaving the diner.

"So you'll be joining us?" Hiro asked casually as he buttoned up his elegant pea-coat.

Duo shrugged and offered a small, still shaken, smile. "It sure beats any plans I've made so far."

"Good," Hiro confirmed with a hidden smile, somewhat amused by Duo's turmoil. He enjoyed catching Duo by surprise (as he often did when he decided to share something about his life).

"We'll meet at my place for a late breakfast. His mother will be bringing him over at around ten," he elaborated as he turned to leave.

"His mother?" Duo repeated numbly. He looked up at Hiro carefully. "Is she like an ex-wife or an ex-girlfriend kinda mother? Holy shit – it's not that _Relena_ girl now is it? Damn, I _knew_ there was something goin' on there... I bet it ended bad, huh? I mean, with all the stuff they're writing in the papers 'n all... Fuck – did that bitch actually walk out on you?!"

"Shut up, Duo," Hiro rebuked irately; he was so sick of those damn ignorant remarks! Duo had no idea how or why Relena had _"walked out"_ on him, so he should keep his damn mouth shut!

"You're being ridicules," he muttered crossly as he picked up his briefcase, preparing to leave. "I will see you next week. You know my address, right?"

"Just like it's spelled in the restriction order..." Duo grumbled bitterly; his gaze was cast down and he stared dully at the table. He never felt comfortable talking about the remnants and lingering consequences of his past crimes; deeds he could not recall committing, but still tasted their bitter aftertaste. One of those remnants was the restriction order a judge had issued over a year ago. He was not allowed to go anywhere near the building Hiro lived in. Now he wondered if that was to protect Hiro's son more than to protect Hiro himself. He would never harm anyone, especially not a child and even more so if it was Hiro's child. No one believed him when he had protested against the restriction, including Hiro.

"Do this right and there will be no more restriction order," Hiro promised and Duo looked up, hopeful.

"Really?

Hiro nodded. "I gave this matter much thought," he explained; "and I've discussed this with Adriel's mother." Hiro spoke his son's name so naturally, probably never realizing that it was the first time Duo had heard it. Duo couldn't help but smile at the sound of the boy's name.

"She's willing to give you a second chance," Hiro continued; "A gesture she wishes to make, in the holiday's spirit."

"Oh," Duo let out, dumbfound. "So let me get this straight: you're inviting me over for Christmas with your... _family?_ "

"Yes."

"Holy fuck." It was all Duo could think of saying.

"Then it's settled," Hiro concluded with a hidden smile. "I will see you then."

He left the diner and Duo remained seated, staring numbly at the leftovers of his meal. His eyes were drawn to the gift Hiro gave him. He stared at the silver cross gleaming under the soft light pouring from the wall-to-wall window. Slowly, he picked it up, holding it carefully between his fingers. He clutched his fist around it and turned to look out the window. He saw Hiro step into his dark-blue sedan and drive off.

He looked down at the table again, overwhelmed with a sense of alienation. Hiro has certainly moved on nicely. The man had a _family_ ; he had created a place in this world for himself – a _home_. No wonder he was so secretive about his life; he was working hard to protect what he had, treasuring things Duo could only dream of having. He could respect that. Moreover, he appreciated the opportunity Hiro was giving him to be a part of something so wonderful. Christmas among family, even if it wasn't his own, sounded almost too good to be true.

Heaving a despondent sigh, he turned to look at the plain silver cross he held in his hand. Gazing at it fondly, he took comfort in the fact that despite whatever crimes he had committed, Hiro still believed in him. He had the faith of another human being, and not just any person – he had _Hiro's_ faith. He had the faith of a person who's been through Hell and back; a person whose soul and humanity were torn and disciplined out of him in ways Duo hated to even imagine. And yet, Hiro managed to persevere and regain his humanity through his faith in others.

If a person as admirable as Hiro chose to believe in him, then his disposition couldn't be all that bad. He will live his life aspiring to become the person Hiro trusted him to be and continue living as someone worthy of Hiro's faith.

Duo smiled at the small silver cross and closed his fist around it tightly, cherishing it for what it represented: Hiro's faith was the best gift anyone could ever wish for.

*     **The End**      * 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:**
> 
> Good God, it's over. I began writing this story sometime during the summer of 2009 and now, 6.5 years later, I'm finally done with it. I feel so empty now that it's over.
> 
> I would like to extend my sincerest thanks and appreciation to Nicki for beta-reading this story and for sending me her most helpful notes and critique. I never would have mustered the nerve to post this 254K monstrosity if it weren't for your encouragement and support.
> 
> And to my readers: Thank you for taking this journey with me. I know it hasn't been easy at times. Many readers gave up on this story along the way (some were pretty nasty about it too). I keep telling myself that a story that has raised a bit of controversy is something of which to be proud. One reviewer compared this story to Clockwork Orange, saying it's just as sick and psychotic. I hardly think so, but I chose to take it as a compliment. It's not every day that someone compares my writing to a dystopian literary masterpiece.
> 
> I've been accused of a wide variety of crimes, from butchering Duo's character, to racism and blasphemy and I imagine that others were just too polite to tell me what they really thought of this story and/or me.
> 
> I am certainly not a racist! In fact, not once was I on the receiving end of Anti-Semitism and other ignorant extremists. I wrote about a racist Duo as means to emphasize his psychosis and general disdain of life. I don't believe his character is racist, it was just the madness and bitterness that made him express his hatred that way.
> 
> I proclaim myself as an atheist, but I have the utmost respect to God-fearing people of all religions. I've lost my faith for a number of reasons, and I used this story as means to deal with this loss. That's all.
> 
> I'm sure I've lost readers for other reasons as well, such as writing an OOC Heero (hey – I gave a good reason for his changed personality!), or because I wrote an original character like Marissa or hooking her up with Heero, thus going against the 1x2 or 1xR consensus. I love 1x2 (actually, 2x1 is more my thing), but I wanted to try something new. I firmly believe that Heero's character is bi-sexual (I can rant on and on about the psychological reasons why he would be bi, but I'll just point to Left Unsaid), and I wanted to explore his ability to connect with a woman after being raped by another man, his best friend no less.
> 
> I have no doubt that many were disappointed that I didn't take the story in one direction or another. Some were probably appalled by the rape and others were disappointed to find out it wasn't some big conspiracy rather just a feud between Heero and his superiors. The truth behind MO2 wasn't the point. The reader's discovery of what really happened was in fact trivial to the plot. One Week was an exploration of friendship, faith and love that transcends definitions, and not about brainwashing, sodomy and psychosis. I hope you've enjoyed reading it.
> 
> Thank you for your readership.
> 
>  
> 
> **In case you're interested, I'm offering the full story in eBook format. You can download it[here](https://www.dropbox.com/s/1pkj216sbpa25rc/Gundam%20Wing%20-%20One%20Week%20-%20Elle%20Smith-%20eBook%205x8.pdf?dl=0).**
> 
>  
> 
> Elle

**Author's Note:**

> **Click[here](https://www.dropbox.com/s/1pkj216sbpa25rc/Gundam%20Wing%20-%20One%20Week%20-%20Elle%20Smith-%20eBook%205x8.pdf?dl=0) to download the full eBook version.**


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